


draíocht

by amuk



Series: New Camelot [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mystery, Post-Canon, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Arthur will return, at a time of great need.Well, the king had returned, along with all of his knights, but Merlin wasn't quite clear about the 'great need' part. Maybe it was the fact that Morgana and Morded had returned too, proving it wasn't just the good who got reincarnated. Or maybe it was just Arthur's great need, since Gwen might have returned but she didn't seem to care for him much.Or maybe the great need was the headache forming in Merlin's forehead and all he really needed as an aspirin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the After Camlann Big Bang! It's a sequel to last year's entry, though I've designed this so you can just jump in without reading!
> 
> My partner for this was Nivelle, who made two amazing pieces that can be found here: https://farbschatten.tumblr.com/post/187840887406/art-for-the-after-camlanm-big-bang-story-link
> 
> and should be added to the fic later this weekend. :)

_CLASH. CLANG. _

Merlin woke up to the sound of striking metal, to the grunts and groans of men outside his window. A small part of his still sleepy mind thought, _this is familiar_. He couldn’t quite place it, just where he had heard this before. Blearily, he blinked, staring up at the white ceiling. Whatever time it was, it was too early. Sunlight bathed his room a soft yellow and he rolled out of bed. His feet hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud. The sounds grew louder as he approached the window, the voices more distinct. He could make out Gwaine’s tired moan, Tristan’s exasperated grunt, Percy’s soft complaints. Sticking his head out the window, he spotted half of Arthur’s round table sprawled on the grass, sweaty and worn. Lancelot and Tristan were still at it.

After months of practicing with wooden swords, Arthur had reluctantly graduated them to the real thing. At least, Lancelot and Leon were, the others hadn’t picked it up as easily as they had. The pair crossed swords, grunting as they tried to force the other to surrender. A harsh clang and they broke apart, only to whirl around and strike one another again.

A familiar sound. A familiar sight. Merlin drank in the scene before him, his eyes pricking as the nostalgia washed over him. It had been eons since knights practiced, since swords were swung in public for actual purpose and not for sport. All it took was the ringing of metal and Merlin was transported back to his youth, to when Camelot had stood and Arthur had been the pinnacle of all that was good. To the time when kings and queens ruled the land, to when magic was brimming in secret and the world was a simpler place.

Then the king had fallen, Camelot had collapsed, and magic had waned.

_You did not fail_, Kilgharrah had sworn, his voice kind. _Magic is not lost._

_The king will be back,_ the lady of the lake promised, her impossibly bright blue eyes boring into his. _You saved him._

Yet years turned to decades turned to centuries and nothing changed. No kings returned from the dark void like Lancelot had. As usual, Arthur liked to keep him waiting. Merlin saw the Dark Ages and witnessed the Renaissance and finally, after the roaring twenties and multiple wars, he had arrived to a present that Gaius would have loved to live in. A time when science had finally overtaken magic, proving that the impossible was possible.

No, to be exact, a time when magic had disappeared. There was no magic left, none except for Merlin’s.

He turned away from the window, back to his crowded room. Towering piles of books claimed every free inch of floor, swaying this way and that when the slightest breeze blue through the unstable piles. Merlin carefully weaved a path to the door, dancing and twirling as he tried not to topple anything over. His house was a modest structure, made with a little magic and thirty years of engineering and architecture studies. It was time that he expanded his room, or at least his house, especially if he was going to house Arthur and all of his knights.

Something he could probably do on his own, his studies weren’t that long ago. Somewhere in the house was his diploma, neatly sitting in a stack with the other degrees he received. With all of eternity stretched out before him, he had too much time on his hands and too little to do. If only Gaius could see him now, could find out that all of his crackpot theories were true. Or were false, but there was a still some of _his_ science behind the phenomena. Merlin wasn’t sure which one would impress the old man more. Just take the combustion process, creating smoke much like the one that was tickling his nose right now—

Shit. Something was burning.

Merlin ran.

-x-

“I was trying to make breakfast,” Elyan admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the wreckage of his attempt. A mountain of dirty dishes filled the sink while the stove was dosed in fire extinguisher foam. Something charcoal-like sat on a plate near the front.

Merlin frowned deeply, trying not to imagine just how long it would take to clean everything up. Considering how often it happened, he nearly had it down to an art. “Seriously? I expected this from Arthur, not you.”

“…in my defense, I don’t cook much,” Elyan muttered, his tone a mixture of contrite and defensive. He shuffled to the right a bit, as though to hide the black food from Merlin’s gaze.

It was too late, Merlin had seen everything. He crossed his arms, channeling his inner Gaius. “That was the best excuse you could come up with?” His head pounded lightly, the beginnings of a headache, and Merlin tried not to sigh too loudly. “Arthur literally learned what a stove was the other day and he doesn’t cause half as much trouble as you or Gwaine.”

It was strange, really. Arthur was the only one who had been brought back to life exactly as he had been, with all of the knowledge of a medieval man and nothing of the modern era. Yet somehow, it was his knights, who had been reborn in the modern age, who had _grown up_ with technology, no somehow, they were the ones that caused the most trouble. Initially he had thought it that maybe the newly resurfaced memories of their past were interfering with their present selves, threatening to overwhelm them.

“That’s because he had less time to destroy things,” Elyan countered, jabbing a finger at the garbage can. “You’ve seen what he’s done with a microwave, just multiply that by ten.”

Now they’d been here for months, Merlin had to accept the cold hard truth: reincarnation was no cure for stupidity. A headache was definitely growing and he raised a brow. “The man was a king, he never had to do this for himself before. Seriously. It’s like an adult comparing themselves to a toddler. Are you sure you want to do that?”

“A toddler?” Laughing, Elyan grabbed the counter to stabilize himself. “Can you imagine his face if he heard it?”

The flare of his nostrils. The furrow of his brow. The growled _Merlin._ Unable to help himself, Merlin chuckled. “He’s been here a year, so maybe ‘baby’ is a better word?”

A howl of laughter broke out of Elyan. “_Much _better. The king is a baby.”

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Merlin took a deep breath and turned back to the kitchen mess. Gingerly picking up a piece of charcoaled food, he realized it was bread. “You burnt toast?”

“French toast,” Elyan corrected, his shoulders still shaking. “Thought Gwen would like them.”

“I don’t think anyone would like this.” Merlin took the plate to the trash can. The compost bin was right next to it, and he turned from one bin to the other before finally dropping it into the trash. As amazing as mother nature was, even she couldn’t find nutrients in that thing.

“It’s my first attempt.” Shrugging, Elyan stretched his arms above him. “I’ll just try again.”

Next to the stove was a bowl filled with egg and several slices of bread. Enough attempts to possibly burn down the house, despite the protection Merlin had weaved into its construction. Maybe he should construct an outdoor kitchen. Or at least move all the appliances outside. Maybe he should get Leon to supervise. Merlin certainly didn’t have the time to, not now. “…just try not to kill yourself?”

Elyan snorted. “That’s not possible.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure Merlin as much as it should have.

-x-

“Merlin!” Lying flat on the ground, Gwaine perked up as Merlin approached the impromptu training field. Without missing a beat, he bounced onto his feet with a roguish grin. “Bout time you woke up.”

Whatever else might be different about this Gwaine, he still had the same limitless energy. It was infectious and Merlin couldn’t resist the tugging of his lips as a happy smile slid onto his face. “I like sleeping in.”

“You mean Arthur doesn’t force you to get up with the rest of us.” Gwaine grimaced with a shudder. He glared at the general direction of the house. “I’ve had teachers less strict than him.”

Merlin hummed in agreement. It was best not to mention the hex he’d left on his room—every time Arthur came to wake him up, he’d remember some important task or the other. If only he had learned to use that back in Camelot. Then again, Gaius would have reproached him, his old basset-hound eyes baleful.

Reaching down into the long grass, Gwaine grasped the hilt of his sword. His tongue sticking out to the side, he grunted softly as he picked up the heavy weapon. Stepping back to fix his balance, he proudly grinned as he showed off the sword. “Ain’t she a beaut? Finally convinced Arthur to let us use the real things.”

“...are you ready?” Merlin watched as Gwaine swung the sword excitedly. Sunlight glinted off the polished metal as he went through his paces, fighting an imaginary foe. There was something rough about his movements, something unrefined, in a way that contrasted completely with Arthur’s form. The difference between childhood training and a drunken brawler, perhaps. But it was also different from how he used to be, from the Gwaine of Camelot, and this version of him was slower, less sure of himself. The cocky bravado had always been a façade but never more apparent than now. “It might be better to practice if you aren’t—”

“I’ve been polishing this damn thing for weeks.” Gwaine stopped, turning to glower at Merlin. His arm, tired of holding up the sword, stuck the weapon into the dirt in a way that would have made Arthur wince. “You’d better not change his mind.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Merlin sighed, rolling his eyes. Some things never changed and this was one of them—Gwaine’s rash, headlong charge into anything that interested him. It could get him killed. It had gotten him killed. Worrying wouldn’t convince him otherwise. Merlin would just have to keep a close eye on him. “You’re totally ready.”

“Good.” Satisfied, he yanked the sword out of the earth. Dirt streaked the tip, dulling the bright silver into a muddy steel.

While he’d never really cared for swords, Merlin couldn’t help the wave of disgust that ran through him at the sight. He’d cleaned too many of Arthur’s gear. His fingers were already itching to grab a cloth, muscle memory from a time long gone returning to him. Turning away, Merlin observed the now empty training field. At some earlier point, the other knights had drifted off. Probably when Arthur had left for his daily wooing session. “Have you seen—”

“Lancelot?” Gwaine completed, switching swordhands. He shook his now cramped right hand and raised a brow at Merlin’s surprised expression. “What? You think I haven’t noticed? The man looks like he’ll drown himself and you keep trying to throw a life preserver.”

Maybe he should have taken some acting lessons at some point. Not bothering to rebuff him, Merlin sighed wearily, his shoulders slumping. “I thought he was getting better, after he and Gwen became friends again.”

“Lancelot and Guinevere,” Gwaine mused, sticking his sword into the earth again. Leaning forward on it, he smirked rakishly. “I think I know where that’s heading.”

“Don’t.” Merlin shot him an angry glare, his tone sharp. “He’s beating himself about that enough, don’t add to it.”

“Hey, I didn’t—” His hands held up in front of him, Gwaine shook his head apologetically. “I haven’t said a word to him.”

“It’s just…” Merlin lowered his eyes, staring at the ground pensively. His hand clasped his wrist, his thumb rubbing circles as he slowly gathered his words. “You said your memories are like a dream, right?”

“Yeah.” Gwaine bit his cheek, his hand gripping the sword tightly. “Most of it, at least. Like a dream you remember still. Only the bits at the end…with Morgana…those, those feel real.”

“You all have such different reactions. Tristan’s memories overtake his current ones, Elyan has merged them together—” Merlin cut himself off as he started to get off topic. “Lancelot…even though it wasn’t him, even though it wasn’t his fault back then either, he can’t stop blaming himself.”

“…I know that feeling,” Gwaine muttered softly, his expression dark. Before Merlin could press him, he let go of his sword and approached Merlin. “And you’re trying to change that.”

“I just can’t stop remembering how he smiled when we first found him. How free it was.” How happy. Merlin remembered the hopeful young man present-Lance had been as he had walked the streets of Paris, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend. And how it had all changed when he’d spotted Arthur, when the memories had flooded in. “I just…I wish we had never awoken him.”

“It’s the fate of the world.” Gwaine swung his arm around Merlin’s back, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. His voice was gentle, soothing. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“Maybe.” Unconvinced, Merlin refused to lean into the comfort his friend gave. “There might have been another way.”

“Or there might not have been.” Gwaine ran his free hand through his hair. It was almost as long as Merlin remembered now, but he couldn’t tell if that if Gwaine was trying to look like he used to or if his present self just liked it. “I mean, I could have been loafing around in Australia with my sister. I’m missing her birthday because of this.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He’d been so caught up with Lancelot’s mess, that he hadn’t considered if any of the other knights were happy with it. Especially Percy and Gwaine—Gwen had made it very clear how she didn’t believe any of this, Tristan had always had issues, and Elyan had been happy just to be reunited with his sister. “I’m sorry, I—”

“There would have been cake, she makes amazing cake,” Gwaine cut him off, his tone light and airy. Pulling Merlin up to stand straight, he continued, “and her hot coworkers—it’s like the model industries’ rejects are there. Beautiful women. Handsome men. Can you just picture it?”

Peeking to his right, Merlin studied his face, the teasing smirk, the bright eyes. It had been a long time since someone had tried to cheer him up. Since someone had been close enough to do it. Leaning closer now, he scoffed. “And what are we, chopped liver?”

“Hmm…I’ll grant you that, there’s a lot of attractive gents and lady here,” Gwaine admitted slowly. “Even a silver fox.”

“Tristan?” Merlin stared at him, not sure if he was joking.  


“Silver fox,” Gwaine confirmed sagely, letting go of Merlin. “But your cooking’s gotten worse.”

“Still miles better than yours,” Merlin snapped back.

“And my sister is better entirely, so we should all just pop by her place later. Guarantee Lancelot will be smiling by the end of it.” Gwaine clapped him on the back hard. “So don’t worry too much about it, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Together. Merlin had almost forgotten that was a word he could use now. “I like the sound of that.”

-x-

Gwen and Leon. Merlin stopped on the path to the lake, surprised by the duo ahead of him. The pair were relaxing on a grassy toll next to the dirt path, facing the castle on the other side. While Leon was just sitting there, Gwen had her sketchbook out. Noticing him, Leon waved. “Merlin.”

“Leon.” Merlin approached them.

Gwen set down her sketchbook at his approach. Folding her hands on her lap, she greeted him with a nod. “Hi.”

Somehow, Merlin couldn’t get used to that. To the distance that Gwen set up between them. At one time, he had been her closest advisor. But then again, out of all the reincarnated friends he’d found, she alone was unique. This Gwen had no memories of the past. This Gwen had no connections to Camelot. She was an ordinary girl who only knew of the present. As far as she was concerned, their tale of heroes and myths were just crazy lies. “Drawing something?”

“The lake.” She ran a hand through her hair, smoothening down stray locks that were ruffled by the cool breeze. “If there’s one good thing about this place, it’s the view.”

“One?” Merlin frowned, glancing back at his house. At his painstakingly, personally crafted house. “My home’s not that bad.”

“Well…” Gwen bit her lip, a tell-tale sign that what she was about to say wasn’t going to be nice. Despite the differences between this Gwen and his Gwen, some things stayed the same. “It’s a nice place. And it has a roof.”

“But?” Merlin asked, gently prodding her.

“Yet you have absolutely no wi-fi and a terrible signal.” She sighed, leaning back to stare up at him. “I don’t understand it. You have magic. You have a fridge, for gods sake. Why is it impossible to contact the rest of the world?”

Merlin winced. Right. Modern needs. Considering he had no friends to contact before now, he hadn’t really cared about the lack of cellular service. “Hey, in my defense, I made this by hand. No company really covers this area.”

“How?” Gwen stared at him incredulously. “I know you’ve “cloaked” this place, but it’s still in the middle of England. Is there even a place in England were you can’t use your cell phone or access the internet?”

“…see,” Merlin explained slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “This place is kinda…blacked out of maps. So even though the networks can come really close to this place, they don’t really know it exists…”

“…magic.” Gwen sighed, flopping backwards onto the grass. She shielded her eyes with her hand, staring up at the sky. “Such a convenient excuse.” Glancing at him, she added, “No matter how many times I see it, I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Despite what Merlin showed you?” Leon asked, cocking his head. “I know there’s a lot of magicians out there, but juggling several heavy crates and performing something out of _The Magician’s Apprentice_ is pretty out there.”

“Isn’t he the magician in this case?” Gwen asked off handedly. Biting her cheek, she carefully worded her next sentence. “It’s…it’s hard to explain. Part of me believes—I can’t really say otherwise the magic and Morgana’s disappearance, but…well, I’m constantly pinching myself, waiting to wake up from the dream. Or have a camera pop out and someone scream _You’re punked_.”

“I get the feeling.” Leon nodded, staring at his hands. “I get the same sensation every time I remember my past lives. I’m just hoping it isn’t real.”

Merlin reached down and squeezed Leon’s shoulder. Sometimes he wondered if the druids shouldn’t have used the Cup of Life on him, giving him the ability to remember each past life. “I’ll find a way to block those memories. I promise.”

Leon covered his hand with his own, smiling softly. “I believe you.” He paused. “Though I can’t say the same for Tristan.”

“…he was looking for me again, wasn’t he?” Merlin asked, trying not to groan.

“Yeah. It’s been months, and without a single sign of Morgana or Mordred.” Leon shrugged. “He really wants to forget his past life.”

“…I’d do it, but…it’s just dangerous.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. If he could, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Especially for Lancelot. But they’d been awoken for a reason and he didn’t want to make a mistake. Not again. Sometimes his life felt like a series of mistakes—not killing Mordred, telling Morgana about her magic, failing to save Arthur and magic.

This time around, he didn’t even have Kilgharrah or Gaius to advise him. Just himself. He had to be careful.

“Morgana and Mordred are not dangerous,” Gwen interrupted sharply, her dark eyes squinting at the two intensely.

Merlin shook his head. “You don’t know who they were—”

“And you don’t know how they are now,” Gwen interrupted, sitting up now. She crossed her arms, her expression just daring him to say something bad about her two childhood friends. “No matter what they did in Camelot, in your past, that’s not who they are now. Now they are my friends. Now they are _good_ people. And when you find them, you’ll give them a chance to explain everything and not just attack.”

“…I’ll try.” It was as close to a promise as he could manage. Maybe Gwen was right. He’d already seen with the other reincarnated knights how similar yet different they were with their past selves. And at one point, Mordred had been a child. At one point, Morgana had worked for Camelot.

At one point, in this world, they had been children, completely unaware of the legacy they held. Until Merlin had recognized them. Did he awaken their powers? Their memories? Would they have been ordinary otherwise? It was a question without an answer.

“You’ll do more than try.” Not completely placated, Gwen begrudgingly accepted his words. “Oh, and if you find Arthur, try to teach him the concept of ‘other people’s stuff’. I know he was a king and all, but there are levels to idiocy.”

Merlin didn’t want to ask what his friend did this time. In Arthur’s attempts to court Gwen, Merlin was reminded of the very early days when Arthur had him do everything from setting up a room to arranging a picnic. Only, this time Merlin refused to lift a finger and Arthur was realizing the limitations of a king’s knowledge.

It was a disaster. He almost felt pity for him, but the comedic value was really cathartic.

“Do I even—” Merlin cut himself off, his hairs standing up. Magic was being used somewhere, strong magic, and there were only two other mages in this world it could be.

-x-

Morgana raised her hands. Blue sparks jumped off her skin, electricity in the air. A small breeze swirled around her, lifting her hair as she softly chanted a spell under her breath. Magic coursed through her veins, running through her spine and along her bones. It was interweaved with her and there was no way to change that, no matter what Uther had wanted.

If only he had wanted something else. Despite it all, she still felt a tinge at his name, a wash of sadness at tragedy of it all. Pushing that feeling aside, she concentrated on her powers, pushing the magic into the spell. Her eyes were glowing by now, she was sure, and the breeze grew stronger until it was a gale.

“Done yet?” Mordred asked, poking his head into her room.

Just like that, the spell stopped, and she glared at him. “It’s hard enough as it is without you interrupting every five minutes. Don’t you have a game to play?”

“I caught all the pokemon here and my switch needs recharging.” Mordred stepped into the room, whistling at the messy sight. They were in a cheap hostel, the best they could afford with their meager funds. At least it was the last place a king would look—there was no way they’d expect them somewhere like this.

Pushing the hair out of her face, Morgana examined the common room. Papers were scattered all over the floor, pots and pans still clanging from the momentum. A chair had overturned and she picked it up. “No one’s around, right?”

“Nope, sent them away.” Mordred grinned, a spark running over his fingers. Magic again. She didn’t really want to use it like this, but they didn’t really have a choice. “So, did you do it?”

“I think so.” Morgana, pulled out a map and a pencil. Letting her muscle memory guide her, she drew several small x’s. “It was very faint, but I sense some of the old ones here. Here. Here. And here.”

“Only four?” Mordred’s face fell, disappointed. Peering closer to the map, he glanced at the x drawn on England. “We can’t check there. Merlin would find us.”

“He would. We’ll leave it last. Hopefully we wont’ have to use it at all.” Morgana stretched her neck, trying to force the crinks out. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find someone at the first site.”

“They used to be everywhere,” Mordred mused. His people used to be nomads, she remembered. He probably knew the locations of old magic better than she did, though his current body had a harder time using it. “The old witches, the unicorns, everything. Do you think they’re extinct now?”

His voice broke at the end and she hugged her little brother tightly. “They might just be hiding. You know how people are, how we are. Bet the unicorns don’t like the smell and are just staying away.”

Mordred didn’t pull back like she expected—for years he had complained that she babied him too much. After a long silence, he slowly nodded. “Maybe.”

-x-

Merlin stared at the sorry sight in front of him. Arthur sat on the porch steps, his normally rim-rod straight posture hunched over as he rested his chin on the back of his hands. His gaze was fixed onto the lake, his jaw set as he ground his teeth grumpily. Sitting down next to him, Merlin looked at his friend, amused. “What did you do this time?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Arthur kept his eyes glued in front of him, barely acknowledging Merlin aside from shifting slightly to the side. His interlaced fingers dug into his skin at the suggestion.

“Everything?” Merlin raised a brow, not sure where to start. Leaning back on his hands, he stared up at sky. The clouds were rolling in, it’d rain soon. “You don’t have that good of a poker face.”

“Your lieg—” Arthur started to correct before cutting himself off. Realizing the futility of making a gaggle of 21st century people use medieval addresses, he had given up on the proper use of his title. As the two people who could remember to use it, Leon and Merlin had both rejected the proposition immediately. “Poker…that card game, right?”

“Right.” Merlin bit his cheek, trying to think of an example Arthur would understand. “I can read you like a book.”

“Funny, that means there’s actually something you could read,” Arthur mocked, finally straightening up and turning to Merlin. With a sigh, he gestured at the room above them, the one that Gwen had claimed. “I gave her flowers.”

“Flowers,” Merlin repeated. He should have known it was Gwen. Almost nothing else was left on the planet that could put this expression on Arthur. Leaning back, he looked around Arthur to where a small bouquet of wild flowers was crumpled together. It was a messy group, the colours clashing between the bright yellows and dark reds that wouldn’t have looked out of place next to a corpse. Still, nothing too incongruous, and if anything it was part of Arthur’s charm to be oddly clumsy like that. “And?”

“She hated it.” Arthur threw a dirty look at the flowers, as though it were their fault. “Told me never to do it again.”

“…are you sure it was the flowers?” Merlin asked. It was the first time that Gwen had thrown him out with an exasperated sigh—Arthur had tried every archaic trick in the book, not quite accepting modern updates to dating. Or courtship as he called it.

Arthur snapped, “Of course I’m sure it was the flowers. What else could it be?”

“You,” Merlin answered bluntly. It was nice to not worry about the stocks anymore, or the dungeons, or whatever unusual punishment Arthur or Uther would think up.

“Me?” Enraged, Arthur raised his hand before taking a deep breath and calming himself. Reaching out, he squeezed Merlin’s shoulder tightly, his hand a vice-like grip. With a tight smile, he chuckled. “Think again.”

Ouch. Merlin had almost forgotten what it felt like, to have Arthur’s fingers digging into his skin. Puling off his hand, he directed it instead to the flowerbed down the hill, thirty metres away. “See that?”

“Flowers?” Arthur asked, raising a brow. “I’m not blind.”

“Just a little.” Merlin picked one of the discarded bouquet flowers. The blue iris had seen better days, its petals wrinkled and ruined from misuse. A few scattered pink petals from another flower scattered in the wind from the disruption. Waving the poor flower in front of Arthur, he asked, “Do you notice something?”

“I got it from there, if that’s what you’re asking.” Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized something disastrous. As he looked from the garden to the flower and then back, Merlin silently counted down. _3\. 2. 1. _“It’s a garden.”

“Yes, Sherlock, it’s a garden.” Merlin patted his friend on the back. While Arthur was as dense as a brick, he wasn’t entirely stupid. “And?”

“Shit.” With a groan, he buried his face in his hands again. His next sentence came out as more of a statement than a question. “It’s hers.”

“She said it was a good stress reliever.” Merlin laughed, picking up the rest of the ill-fated bouquet. “Too bad she didn’t realize her number one source of stress would do this.”

“Shut up.” Arthur glared at him through the cracks of his hands, his voice a deep grumble. “I thought she’d like it.”

“Like her hard work going to waste?” Merlin snorted, happy to have the upper hand. Picking the most intact flower, he started to pull out petals. “She’ll forgive you. She’ll forgive you not. She’ll forgive you. She’ll—”

“Merlin. Not helping.” Finding a source to vent his anger, Arthur directed most of his attention to Merlin. “You can fix them with magic?”

“Not at all.” Merlin picked up a flower with a broken stem. “Please tell me you didn’t give them to her like this.”

“Of course not.” Arthur worried his lip, moving from anger to concern. His fingers drummed his cheeks as he contemplated it. “There’s a way to fix this.”

“Probably. If you don’t do something else stupid.” Merlin had to give Arthur one thing—persistence and an oddly upbeat persistence. Most people would be depressed to find out that their wife’s reincarnation didn’t remember them. Nor cared about them.

“Oh, that’s great advice,” Arthur drawled sarcastically. Spotting something, he sat up and tugged one of Merlin’s hairs. “Is that a white hair? And here I thought it was a sign of wisdom.”

“That’s impossible, I don’t have white hairs.” Behind them were big bay windows, allowing plenty of sunlight into the living room. Here, at the edges of Avalon, it was eternally summer and without having to fear winter, Merlin had been free to optimize his house for summer use. Leaning close to the window, Merlin squinted as he tried to make out his reflection. A young man in his late twenties looked back. Beside his eyes, which revealed his age no matter what he spell he used, Merlin looked the same as he had ten, thirty, a hundred, several hundred years ago. Shorter than Arthur. Lanky build. Dark brown hair.

A strand of white. On his right side, a strand of white hair stood out amongst the dark and Merlin gingerly took it between his fingers. An impossible white hair. He couldn’t have it. He’d stopped aging centuries ago. Yet despite all logic otherwise, the proof was undeniable.

Somewhere inside him, a clock started ticking forward again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite parts are writing Morgana and Mordred as siblings, though I fear I'm not doing it right.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Mordred scowled as he woke up. It had been hard enough to sleep on these hard, hostel beds. He hadn’t been in a cot so narrow since he was five and insisted on sleeping in Morgana’s room. Even the pillows were threadbare and while there was certainly a reason for the adage ‘You get what you paid for’, he wished it hadn’t been so on the mark.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Wrapping the pillow around his head, he tried to block out the constant running out in the hallway. It wasn’t even the morning yet. Only the barest hint of the sun coloured the sky outside the window. Yet for some reason, someone was barging down the halls of this shitty establishment as though they owned it. Maybe they did. Then he could just complain to them directly and get a refund.

“Hey. Mordred.” Morgana’s head peeked down over the edge of the bunk bed. Upside down, her hair hung straight down and she looked like a creature from a horror movie.

Mordred suppressed a shudder. He hated horror movies. Squinting at her through narrowed eyes, he croaked, “Yeah?”

“They’re fucking loud, right?” Morgana growled, her brow knit. She ground her teeth as a particularly loud _Thump_ sounded just outside their door. “Bet they’re Americans.”

At that, Mordred laughed. His sister hard a particular hard on for their cousins across the pond, taking every opportunity to hit them with a pot shot. “They could just be French.”

“True, true.” Morgana smirked. She had a fondness for the Britain-France hatemace as well. Now that he thought of it, maybe she just enjoyed grudges. “Either way, I want to murder them.”

“We could.” Letting go of the pillow, Mordred rolled over to the side and reached under the bed. “There’s a little space under here, just enough for a body.”

“The walls are paper thin and everyone would hear.” Morgana winced as another loud thump occurred, followed by a swear. “Good. I hope that hurt.”

“What time is it?” Mordred asked, finally giving up on sleep. Stretching his arms above him, he yawned. Damn. He hadn’t woken up this early since university. No, wait, not even then. Maybe high school? Yeah, that would be it—he skipped all of his morning classes in uni. Bloody hell, it was too early to think.

Morgana disappeared back onto her bed. “6:30 am.”

“Well. I guess Dad’ll be happy. We’re waking up on time for once.” Mordred slid his feet off the bed and onto the cool floor. A shiver ran up his spine. It was chilly this morning.

Morgana snorted. “_You’re_ waking up on time for once. I actually do it every now and then.”

“That’s not really much better than me.” Mordred rolled his eyes as he finally stood up. “Well, I guess it’s for the best. Magic is better early in the morning, after all.”

“Probably.” Morgana started to climb down the ladder. “At the very least, we can hopefully miss out on some of the crowds. The amount of people that were there yesterday…”

“Insane.” Mordred rubbed his eyes, shaking off the last of his bleariness. “Absolutely insane. It’s just a pile of rubble.”

“Ancient rubble,” Morgana corrected, picking up a towel off her suitcase. “Also, I’m taking first shower.” She zipped out the door before he could stop her.

Oh. Right. There was a reason they stopped sharing rooms.

-x-

“It’s unbelievable,” Leon muttered, sitting on a grassy hill. In front of him was the lake, with the vague shape of a castle in the distance. A place of magic, a place that once upon a time wasn’t allowed to exist and now seemed like it was all that was left.

Looking up from the book he was reading, Tristan adjusted his reading glasses. They made him look older than he was, but no less bitter. “What is?”

How rare. While they sat together often, Leon knew that it wasn’t for the company. Tristan hardly went out of his way to interact with anyone; somehow that didn’t deter Percy, Gwaine, or Lancelot from flocking to him like bees to honey. If anything, Tristan sat near him for the silence, for the absence of conversation. He hadn’t really expected a response and surprised, he blinked at Tristan owlishly before collecting his words. “The castle.”

“The castle,” Tristan repeated, setting down his novel. Taking off his glasses, he stared at the ancient abode that sat a boat ride away. “Is that Avalon?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Leon’s lips tugged downward as he remembered his first visit here. Everything had been too raw back then, too painful, and he hadn’t asked the right questions. “I think everything else, but I’m not sure what that place specifically is for.” Wistful, he admired the parpets, the winding stone towers, the arched windows. “It looks a little like Camelot.”

“Not really.” Tristan snorted, pointing at one of the crumbling towers. “I think Camelot was in better shape.”

“…it was.” Leon tried not to pull that memory back, but it flooded him nonetheless. The sounds. The smells. The scents. A ruckus compared to today. His head throbbed and he could feel a headache coming on. There were far too many memories in his head and he could feel them threaten to overwhelm him. Rubbing his head, he closed his eyes, blocking off as many sensations as possible as he dealt with the backlash.

“Another headache?” Tristan observed. There was nothing kind nor cruel about his words, just matter of fact. “How much did you say you remembered?”

Pressing the pads of his fingers so hard against his skull he could feel an imprint, Leon nodded. “Everything.”

“Everything.” Tristan whistled lowly. His book lay to his side, all forgotten. A Russian tragedy. He had been reading a lot of tragedies—Greek, Roman. Leon cycled through the titles slowly, concentrating on the names. The focus helped center him. “A curse, right?”

“Not quite.” Leon took a deep breath, the headache subsiding to a constant ebb. “It was supposed to be a gift, to save my life. I don’t think they intended for it to be forever.”

“A gift.” Tristan pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up with a gentle click. “Seems like there are misguided fools everywhere. It still amounts to a curse in the end.”

A curse. It felt like one. Unlike Merlin, his immortality was limited to his memories. He lived to a hundred, suriviving almost everything, and then died, only to be reborn with all of his memories intact. A perfect recollection—he could remember his childhood now better than he had back then. On top of Camelot’s memories were the memories of every other lifetime, all piled up one on top of another without the forgiving mercy of forgetfulness. Every death. Every love. Every loss. He had met grandchildren and watched entire family lines die out.

He still remembered that first sip, the burning waters of goblet as they rushed down his throat. It had been a warning, a brand. Leon should have spit it out, should have bleed out on the floor and let the light fade from his eyes. While loyalty demanded he try everything in his power to protect Camelot, this went beyond that.

“It might be,” he admitted reluctantly. “It just might be.”

“You should forget then.” Tristan exhaled, the smoke from his lips disappating into the wind. “Merlin will erase my memories. You can erase everything too.”

“I don’t think he can remove this. It’s a magic far older, far more powerful than his.” After cycles of life and death, of rebirth and reincarnation, Leon had asked Merlin to remove the spell. To let him just die and never come back. To his credit, he had tried.

And he had failed and Leon learned that there were some things that couldn’t be undone, magic or not.

-x-

“Wow.” Morgana stopped walking, taking in the sight in front of her. It was early enough that there was a slight fog on the ground, shrouding the fallen columns and broken temple in an air of mystery. There was something ethereal about the Temple of Delphi in the morning light, as the pale morning light just barely bathed it in a golden ray.

Compared to the ruins of Rome, it was absolutely nothing. Just a circular rise with a few columns still standing, the rest of it piles of ruined rock. Barely enough to call it a temple, barely enough to remember what it was. What it used to be. Time had taken its toll, decimating the place. Yet, in the early hours, in the space between yesterday and today, between forgetting and remembering, she could almost make out the other columns. Make out a temple of yore, with smoke drifting out of the open door. An oracle sat inside, gesturing for her to come in, to hear a voice of the gods.

“This wasn’t Uther’s doing, right?” Mordred muttered, his arms hugging himself as he scanned the ruin.

Shaken out of her stupor, Morgana shook her head. “His reach wasn’t that big. Even though it felt like it. Like everything was his.” Like no matter where she ran, where she went, he would catch her. The world had been smaller then. Just Camelot and a few neighbouring kingdoms.

“He was really small.” Mordred kicked a small rock at his foot viciously. “They don’t even talk about him in the stories.”

“Yeah.” Morgana snickered snidely. “Really…he was just a petty man. A petty king who couldn’t accept the guilt of what he’d done.”

If his wife had lived, if Nimueh hadn’t made that deal, if he only hadn’t rejected his part in his wife’s death, perhaps Camelot would have had a different ending.

Then again, who was she to talk? From the bits and pieces of her past life that she remembered, she had apparently been more like her adoptive father than she’d wanted to admit. Petty. Cruel. A tinge of guilt ran through her at the thought of what she’d done to Gwen, to Arthur, though neither of them really deserved her anger. Not at first, at least.

“Then I guess we can’t blame him for this.” Crossing his arms, Mordred sighed. “It still looks terrible.”

“That’s what time does.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Morgana slowly picked her way up to the center of the temple. There was a rough path there, well worn from the constant ebb and flow of travellers. “People just stopped believing and when they did…well, there was no need for this place.”

“A relic, huh?” Mordred commented bitterly, following her. “With science, I guess that’s what magic is.”

“Magic’s more than that!” she argued, looking over her shoulder to glare at him. “There are things you can’t do with science that you can only do with magic.”

“Right.” A mischievous smirk crossed his face and he waggled his eyebrows. “Like making Pokemon real.”

“…we are not arguing about that again.” Morgana rolled her eyes, turning away. Pokemon. Digimon. Whatever lame show Mordred would fantasize about as a child. The second that her brother realized he had magic, he’d spent his every waking moment trying to travel to another world or bring to life creatures that probably were best not existing in the first place. “We both saw Jurassic Park. I think we know how that’ll end.”

“Only without the proper guiding hand,” Mordred argued, puffing his cheeks like a chipmunk. “That movie was pessimistic.”

“Ah-huh.” She held out a hand, counting the ways it could go wrong. “Keep dreaming, little brother. We have greater concerns than—”

Reaching the center of the temple, she cut herself off. Something felt off. She glanced up at the sun. The fog had rolled away now, removing the mystique that had surrounded the place, but that wasn’t it.

Picking up it as well, Mordred studied the place. “Something is missing.”

“Yeah.” Crouching, Morgana pressed her hand against the soil. Ley lines were best observed through the earth itself. Drawing out the power within her, she pulsed sparks of electricity through her arms and into ground. They rippled out away from her, reaching out for the mangled roots of the planet’s magic lines.

And very, very weakly, they echoed back to her. Her eyes opened and she stared at Mordred. “There’s nothing.

-x-

“We can talk while I train,” Arthur drawled, rolling his shoulders back. He spun the sword in a hand, taking a threatening step forward. His lips pulled back into a tight smile, all teeth and gusto. “You used to be good with the shield.”

Merlin winced as he lifted the heavy metal shield. He had forgotten how heavy it was. How awkward the shape was. How long had it been since he’d last held it? His arms burned and Merlin cursed under his breath. For all his knowledge, he hadn’t kept his body in decent shape and he could feel it.

“Ready?” Arthur warned, looking like a shark that smelled blood. Knowing him, he probably assessed Merlin’s arm strength already, picking the worst shield for him. Without waiting for a response, he raised his sword and attacked.

Yet there was one thing the big prick hadn’t taken into account—this time, Merlin wasn’t shackled by hiding his magic. Finally, he could give his body a little helping hand. As Arthur’s sword arced through the air, Merlin silently dug his feet into the ground, drawing on the earth’s energy. It coursed through him, strengthening his arm, he only bent back slightly at the weight of Arthur’s blow.

“That’s cheating,” Arthur grumbled, pulling back.

“Not. Really,” Merlin grunted, shaking his arm slightly. While he had been able to stand his ground for once, it didn’t entirely numb the pain and Arthur always hit hard. He was going to have bruises tomorrow. He just knew it. “Just using what I know.”

“Let me show you what _I_ know.” With a roar, Arthur charged once more, sword high in the air. As Merlin braced himself for the hit, Arthur instead hooked his foot around Merlin’s leg and swept him.

“The hell!” Merlin landed on his back with a hard _oof_.

“Need to be more careful. What if the enemy changes tactics?” Arthur asked innocently, a smirk on his face.

“And you said I was cheating.” Winded, Merlin rolled over to the side and pointed at Arthur’s shoes. A burst of magic, dragging the shoes toward him, and Arthur fell backwards onto the ground.

“Merlin!” Arthur groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re on defense! Not offense!”

“What if the enemy changes tactics?” Merlin taunted, throwing back Arthur’s words at him. Before Arthur could tackle him, Merlin made a ‘T’ with his hands. “Anyways, timeout—we have to talk about Morgana.”

Arthur took a deep breath. And then another one. And then yet another one. After an eternity, he calmed down enough to roll to his side and glare at Merlin. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

“Sure. Sure. I’ll sleep with a knife under my pillow and one eye open.” Merlin rolled his eyes. Sitting up, he ruffled his hair, shaking out any stray grass that was caught in. “I sensed them using magic.”

“Do you know where?” Arthur slowly sat up, his legs splayed in front of him.

“Nope.” Merlin crossed his arms, peeved. He was a far superior mage, especially by now. He had centuries on them. But somehow, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where they were. “Somewhere east of us, I think. But…I just can’t figure out where.”

“Keep trying.” Rubbing his jaw, Arthur considered the situation. “We’ll have to go after them.”

“Are the knights ready?” Merlin asked doubtfully. “Aren’t they still using wooden swords?”

“They’ll have to be ready. It’s not like we have a choice.” He shrugged. “Though I don’t think we should bring Gwen with us.”

“She won’t agree to that.” Merlin could already hear the arguments. “And she’s not going to listen to you.”

“…we could just sneak off. Using your magic,” Arthur suggested slyly.

“Now my magic’s good to use?” Merlin snorted. “No, I have a better solution.”

“Oh?” Arthur raised a brow. “And what’s your great idea?”

“We can’t leave Avalon unprotected—I don’t know what Morgana’s trying to do, but she might come here. The magic here’s older, stronger than it is in a lot of places.” Merlin stared at the lake. Somewhere inside was the lady of the lake, though she hadn’t reappeared in ages. “We’ll split into two groups.”

“One to protect and one to chase.” Arthur considered it, thoughtfully tapping the ground. “That could work. A good division of the knights too. Leon didn’t even need training. Tristan’s pretty good now. So’s…” Arthur’s expression twisted. “Lancelot.” Despite what he said about bygones being bygones, he hadn’t fully let go of his jealously and anger toward the ‘traitorous’ knight. “And of course, there’s me.”

“Great. Then Gwen can stay with Elyan, Leon, Lancelot, and.” Merlin took a deep breath. This next part would be hard. “You.”

“Yeah—me?” Arthur snapped his head toward Merlin. “Why would I stay here? Morgana is out there!”

“Yeah and you can’t fight her,” Merlin argued. “You can’t fight magic, not by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself.” Arthur growled, leaning forward to shove Merlin in the chest. “You’ll be there.”

Forcing himself to stay upright, Merlin shoved Arthur back. “Then who’ll be here? Avalon has to be protected, just in case!”

“Leon. Tristan. _Anyone_.” Arthur shook his head furiously. “But not me. I’m going wherever she is. And I will stop her.”

“Don’t make it so personal!” Merlin snarled back. “This is bigger than just you.”

“Don’t make it personal?” Dumbfounded, Arthur stared at Merlin for a long second. Jabbing Merlin in the chest, he growled, “_Don’t make it personal?_ She killed my father. She took over my kingdom. She brainwashed Guinevere. She led to the destruction of Camelot. _And you don’t want me to make it personal?”_ Each sentence was punctuated with a jab.

Merlin grabbed his hand, digging his fingers into Arthur’s flesh. “Sorry.” Of course it was personal. It couldn’t be anything but personal. This was Morgana they were talking about. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Arthur looked away, the tension leaving his hand.

“And that’s precisely why you have to stay,” Merlin replied firmly, trying to keep his tone even and steady. “We don’t know what she’s up to. I have to figure out her magic, but someone has to stay here. In case she comes here. In case Mordred comes here. And you, Leon, and I are the only ones who know how important this place is.”

“Then get Leon to—”

Merlin cut him off with a shake of the head. “Leon can’t make decisions like this. He’s a soldier, not a leader. You have to be here.” When Arthur tried to yank his hand away, Merlin held on tighter. “You’re our king. If anything happens out there, it’s all up to you.”

The logic was sound. As much as Arthur didn’t want to admit it, Merlin was right. He gritted his teeth. “There…”

“And you can protect Gwen here.” Striking the killing blow, Merlin let go of Arthur. “If you stay, she’ll definitely stay.”

“…she doesn’t love me. Not like that. Not anymore.” It hurt to say the words, to admit them aloud. There had been a time when he had feared it had always been the case, back when Gwen had been brainwashed. But this was different. More painful. It was a reality that couldn’t be undone by breaking a spell.

“Maybe. But if she sees you’re giving up the chance to find them, she’ll believe it when we say we’ll give Morgana a chance to explain herself.” Merlin shuffled closer to Arthur, bumping shoulders with him. “She’ll accept the fact that it might be too dangerous and stay.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but the slump of his shoulders indicated his agreement.

“You know, she didn’t love before either,” Merlin finally said, when the silence got too unbearable. “And then you somehow changed her mind.”

“That’s because I’m charming, unlike you,” Arthur mumbled, his insults lacking his usual bite.

“Nah, I think she must have hit her head at some point. Only reasonable explanation.” Merlin leaned back to dodge the half-hearted swipe. “You can always charm her again. Or give her another concussion, might be quicker.”

“I could give you one,” Arthur barked, the colour returning to his skin. 

“Is that a confession?” Before Arthur could retaliate, Merlin jumped up and sprinted away. “Sorry! Don’t find ex-kings all that attractive.”

“MERLIN!”

-x-

“What do you mean there’s nothing?” Immediately, Mordred crouched next to her, sending his own magic pulsing through the ground.

“Sorry, that wasn’t right.” Morgana bit her lip, struggling to find the right words. It was more of a feeling, an idea than an actual thing. The words to describe it didn’t really exist anymore. “It’s there but…it’s weak. It’s so very weak.”

“I…I can just sense it.” Mordred opened his eyes, his bright blue eyes slowly dimming back to its natural colour as he stopped using his power. He trembled, his fingers digging into the soil. “The roots, the system, it barely exists.”

If Morgana closed her eyes, she could faintly make out a network of magic lines that criss-crossed the planet. The ley lines, as they were called now, pulsed power throughout the planet. The druids had told her once that they were like the roots of a very old tree. Occasionally, part of line would jut out of the root, a power spot for others to gather. The old witches were at one spot. This place was another.

In her time, magic had been so plentiful that it had spilled out of every leaf and brook. Now, here at the very epicenter of a ley line, she couldn’t even sense it without stretching her senses.

“This is wrong.” Morgana sat back, staring up at the sky. “This is very wrong. I…I could understand no witches. But no magic? At all?”

“Hey, sis.” Mordred glanced her, his eyes wide with fear. “What happens when it’s all gone?”

She jerked her head back to him. No magic? At all? “What do you mean?”

“There’s always been magic, right?” Mordred stared back at the ground, as though the answer was written in the stalks of grass. “If it’s all gone, what happens to the earth?”

“It…” Morgana frowned. She’d never considered that before. It had seemed impossible. “I don’t know.”

-x-

The truck’s keys jingled as Percy picked them off the kitchen counter. Despite whatever enchants Merlin had cast on the thing, the truck ran like a normal one and Percy had driven off road enough times to know it wouldn’t be a problem out here. In some England rural area. In Avalon, a place that shouldn’t exist.

At least he didn’t have to worry about traffic laws until he reached civilization again.

“Going out?” Gwaine asked, sauntering into the kitchen. His bangs, still wet from the shower, were glued to his face.

“Just calling Rahul.” Percy smiled at the thought of his husband and their farm. The temperature difference between home and here was dramatic. This placed seemed to be in perpetual summer and he had forgotten just what season it was now. Time lost meaning here and he remembered bedtime stories, of faeries tricking mortals into losing decades of their life.

“Never thought you’d be such a homebody.” Opening the fridge, Gwaine perused the neatly organized cartons for food, ignoring the names written on them. He picked one with _Elyan_ on it and Percy already pictured the trouble to come. Looking at Percy over the fridge, Gwain waggled his eyebrows. “Tired of your hand?”

“We’re not all sex maniacs like you.” Percy fought down the blush that threatened to overtake his cheeks. While his hometown wasn’t completely prudish, this type of talk typical in change rooms and nights out with friends, it was still jarring to hear it so uttered so loudly. So publicly. He hoped Gwen or Arthur weren’t outside, though he wasn’t sure which would embarrass him more.

“Right.” Gwaine stared at him doubtfully, his voice deadpan. Letting it go, he returned to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice. “So, you’re calling him.”

“Yes, I’m calling him,” Percy muttered, glad for the topic change. Swinging the key slowly around his finger, he leaned against the wall. “I don’t want Merlin to use his magic on him, so I’m just giving him an update.”

“What are you telling him then?” Closing the door, Gwaine cocked his head curiously. Raising the pitch of his voice, he mimed talking on a phone. “_Honey, I’m not cheating on you, but I’m bunking up with ten other guys. And a girl. In shack in the middle of nowhere._”

“…yeah, I’m not telling him that,” Percy scoffed, crossing his arms. He could just picture Rahul’s face at the news. Not to mention, he’d have to bring up everything about magic and reincarnation. Despite the memories that simmered in the back of his head, brought back at the smallest touch or faintest remembrance, Percy could hardly believe it himself. Hell, he’d seen Merlin use his magic and he still expected wires every time he witnessed it.

“A lie, then.” Gwaine shook his head sadly. “Mate, relationships can’t be built like that.”

“Oh fuck off.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Like there’s any way to explain any of this and not get sent to a doctor.”

“Good excuse to not go home though—best doctors in the world are here.” Turning back to the food he just stole, Gwaine dug in the drawers for a clean plate and fork. Despite his flippancy, he was surprisingly structured in how he ate his meals, not taking the fast, easy route like Percy would.

“I can’t even tell if you’re serious or not.” Giving up, Percy headed to the door once more. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long of a drive to get service—he didn’t even have to actually make it to the closest town. Instead, he just had to cross an invisible line and suddenly his phone was alive with updates. Pulling over to the side of the old country road, Percy speed dialed his husband’s phone number.

A ring. A second ring. And a warm voice sent an ache through Percy. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, love.” Percy smiled.

“Evening, almost.” Rahul laughed and Percy had missed that.

“Evening, then.”

“Must be really late where you are. How’s the trip?” Rahul asked, his voice distant and echoing on the phone. At the very limits of Avalon, the juncture between the present and the past, there were just enough bars for his cell phone to work. Not enough for it to work well—their calls always sounded like they were underwater.

Some sound was better than no sound and Percy smiled at his husband’s voice. “Good. Gwaine’s a dick but beyond that, good.”

Rahul laughed, deep and earthy. A tinge of his accent still remained in that laugh, a reminder of his heritage. “He’s seems the type, though.”

“…true,” Percy admitted. Sitting on the hood of the truck, he watched as the sun slowly set. It must still be afternoon where Rahul was. He could already picture his husband, his hands muddy from tending to his herb garden. “He’s not allowed to visit us again.”

“You say that but you like him,” Rahul teased and maybe he shouldn’t meet Gwaine for another reason. His husband’s teasing was mild on most days, but leave him in Gwaine’s hands and it would be intolerable. “He’s a charmer.”

“I thought I was the charmer?” Percy raised a brow at his husband’s words.

“No, no, honey, you’re charming, but it’s all unintentional.” Rahul grunted, then swore softly. Judging by the soft snorting and whickers behind him, he was in the barn. Giving hay, most likes. “Maybe you can pick up a thing or two from him before you come back?”

Percy could already picture Gwaine’s face at the request and silently swore to make sure he never saw Rahul again. “Anyways, my cousins are taking me out to show me the sights, so I might not be able to call much the next few days.”

“Look at you, world traveller.” Rahul pouted and Percy could just picture the face his husband was making, the puffed up cheeks like a hamster’s. “Next time, you’re taking me with you.”

“Only if you can convince my brother to take care of the farm while we’re gone,” Percy countered.

“…next time, you stay here and I travel the world.” Rahul immediately changed tactics, and Percy muffled his laughter. “I heard that. I’m not afraid of him.”

“Sure you’re not.” Percy gave up hiding it, and just laughed. “Anyways, I have to head back now. It’s getting late.”

“I’m not afraid.” Rahul insisted.

“Of course,” Percy agreed, playing along.

“I hope you get nightmares,” Rahul replied grumpily, but his tone was warm. “Love you.”

“…love you too.” Percy smiled despite himself. His fingers clenched, remembering the feel of his husband’s hair through his digits, the rough texture of Rahul’s skin. It had been too long.

“When did you say you’ll be back?” Rahul asked, his tone hopeful and lonely.

_In a bit_, Percy wanted to say. _I miss home_. And it was true. He missed the winters, the frost on the panes and the sweet aroma of hot chocolate. The feel of earth under his fingers, the wet dirt sticking to his fingernails weeks after the fact. Even the smell of the barn, as odd as it was.

The words stuck to his throat like syrup. The world was vast, far too vast to cover in a single lifetime. For once, he understood exactly why his friends had left his town, why they only came back on the odd holiday, if ever. The sights, sounds, smells he’d experienced on this trip left his home dull in comparison.

“Percy?” Rahul asked, still waiting on the line.

“Just a little longer and I’ll be back,” he promised, and hated how it felt like a lie.

-x-

Rolling out a map on top of their suitcase, Morgana stared at the ley lines she’d drawn, criss-crossing the country as they were. She drew an ‘x’ on Greece—if the most magical part of the country was like that, the rest of it wasn’t worth inspecting.

“Really low-tech of you, sis,” Mordred commented dryly, sitting on his bed. His arms were folded on his bent knees, and he rested his chin on them. “We have phones. That still work.”

“I realize that Modred, but I don’t really want to see a world map on the phone. The screen’s too tiny..” Morgana sighed. Amazing the difference a few years could make—she had grown up without a computer and he knew nothing but technology. “Where should we go next?”

“Well…” Getting up, he examined her map. The countries across the sea were moot—they definitely didn’t have the cash for that. They couldn’t go back to England, nor any of the isles near it. “France? Our age-old enemy?”

“I don’t know if Merlin feels the same,” Morgana muttered, her finger tracing the country. Stopping on Paris, she cocked her head. “But…wait, there might be something we can do there.”

“The city of love?” Covering his mouth in mock shock, he stared at her. “Finally, Dad will get off your case. Does this mean I’ll be an uncle soon?”

“Shut up.” she glared at him, bristling. “It’s bad enough he brings it up every other day. I don’t need you to start on it too.”

“Dad’s biological cloak is ticking,” he sighed sadly, checking an imaginary watch on his wrist. “The window to be a grandpa is really small.”

“I’ll tell him about your girlfriends,” she threatened, jabbing Mordred in the chest. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Realizing he’d gone too far, he raised his hands in surrender. “Lips sealed, I won’t say a word. So, Paris?”

Shooting him one last glare, Morgana turned back to her map. “There’s a leyline that goes through it as well. And there’s one old place that runs perfectly through it.”

Mordred sighed. “Great. Old churches it is. Dad will love that we’re getting more religious.”

“…it’s not quite at the churches.” Morgana rubbed her neck when he stared at her suspiciously. “Think more underground.”


	3. Chapter 3

“No way.” Elyan chuckled, leaning back into his chair. The view from Merlin’s porch was incredible, especially around sunset, and Gwen and him had made a habit of sitting there, watching the sunset. “Dad did that?”

“He did,” Gwen confirmed, a sly expression on her face. She slowly stirred her drink. “But what he doesn’t know is that I broke the vase in the first place.”

“You’re a monster,” Elyan stated, wagging a finger at his sister. “A devil, even.”

“Oh please, like you’re any different.” Gwen a stray, frizzy lock out of her face. Hands on her hips, she raised a brow and looked at him. “Need I remind you of the baseball incident?”

“I should never have told you that.” Elyan pinched his nose. It was fun relearning each other, rebuilding the relationship that they had lost so long ago. To hear stories about a lifetime that they had missed. Not as much fun to reveal embarrassing stories, to give the other ammo to be used in future arguments. Maybe he should have cherry-picked his stories better.

“But you did.” Gwen grinned victoriously. “And I don’t think I did anything as bad to Dad as you did to Mom.”

“Oh?” Fortunately for him, his sister was just as honest as he was. Accepting the challenge, Elyan interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them. “And what about the watermelon—”

-x-

Merlin had never known if he should be grateful he didn't have Leon's long memory or envious instead. While Leon wasn't alive for every century, the years he was were crystalized perfectly inside his mind. Merlin had taken him to places and watched as he walked the layout of a ghost town, tracing out perfectly what time had lost. "That was where we stored our food, that was where we buried our dead, and that was where we prayed," Leon could rattle off without pause, without hesitation. Other, more intimate memories too: "That was where I saw Elise. Mark. My kids played here. My dog would run wild through those fields."

It was a lot. It was too much. Leon couldn't look at a place without remembering the history of it all, the good and the bad. The many iterations of it, the layered ruins. People only now realized that Troy had existed in cycles, multiple iterations buried on top of one another, but Leon could guide you though the different layers, tell you exactly what happened in each section.

Merlin, on the other hand, retained his human memory, with all its faults and flaws. Only the past twenty years were clear, the rest hazy. Even Camelot at times felt more like a dream than reality. It would have been nice to remember it all, the adventures they had and the times they'd shared. However, unlike Leon, Merlin had lived through every year between then and now and he wasn't sure if he could handle the memories. Leon's headaches seemed bad enough as is. Still, walking in the Oracle's space in Delphi, he felt a pang for memories lost. The ruins had been degrading back in Camelot's time, but that was a stark contrast to the depilated scene in front of him.

"A pile of rocks," Gwaine stated bluntly, sitting on one. "And not all that comfortable either."

"...ok, I wasn't going to say anything, but yeah." Percy shaded his eyes as he took in the wide expanse in front of them. From their position on the hill, they could see lines of people milling about, tourists snapping pictures and children running about. "This is a magical place?"

"It was one, yes." Merlin shoved Gwaine off a rock without warning, glaring at him sternly when he yelped indignantly. "And don't sit on the rocks. They're older than you are."

"Obviously." Gwaine rubbed his head, sitting on the grass. "And sitting on them's not really making them worse."

He had a point. But. Still. Merlin could remember faintly the days when he spotted other witches here, traces of magic used far more freely than Camelot had ever allowed. Crossing his arms, he argued, "You'll get kicked out if you're caught."

"And I definitely wouldn't want that." Gwaine rolled his eyes. "A terrible loss, truly."

"Stop clowning around." Despite the time Tristan had spent with them, his tongue was no less sharp. "The longer you're yakking here, the further she's getting."

"Yakking." Gwaine grabbed Percy's hand and got up. "When was the last time I heard that?"

"He's old. Leave him be," Percy feigned politely, trying not to snigger.

"And he still has his hearing and better blade-work than either of you." Tristan's smile was a sharp as his sword. "Care to find out if this old man still has it in him?"

Ignoring the bickering behind him, Merlin walked toward the main part of Delphi. What had someone once told him? When you walked through the dark tunnels, toward the light, it was like the oracle's sight. The whole temple had been designed to show off her power. And now her power was no more. Merlin stopped walking. No more. Now that was a strange thought. While the oracle didn't exist, the place itself should still contain power. Yet...he didn't feel the usual buzz, the crackle he felt living next to Avalon. The earth felt almost dead here. "Something's wrong," he muttered.

"What?" Tristan turned to face him now, cutting off his argument with Gwaine.

"Something is wrong here." Merlin closed his eyes, expanding his range. This place was almost devoid of magic. "The magic here...it's gone."

-x-

_Morgana, where are you?_

Morgana stared up at the ceiling as her phone buzzed. Without looking, she knew the cause, knew exactly who texted her and what. Gwen. It was always Gwen.

_How are you?_

_Where are you?_

_Are you okay?_

Simple questions that Morgana would read and ignore. When that hadn’t worked, Gwen had sent email after email and it was tempting, so very tempting, to respond once. To send a _Stop messaging me. I don’t want to talk to you._

But this was Gwen, and a message like that would only spur her on. Hell, even getting nothing back didn’t deter her. This was almost a daily thing from her now. With a sigh, Morgana rolled over and picked up her phone. Her screen brightened at a touch, the message popping up with a simple tap.

_Hope you’re eating properly._

“What are you, my mom?” Morgana muttered fondly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“Morgana? If I’m awake, you are too,” Mordred announced grumpily from below.

“You just want everyone to suffer, your sadist,” Morgana snarked back, turning off her phone’s screen.

-x-

“Elyan.”

Elyan looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight of Arthur standing in front him. A nervous Arthur in front of him. Well, as nervous as Arthur let on. His finger was tapping on his thigh, his foot scuffing against the hardwood floor as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Interesting. “Yes?”

“Guinevere…” Arthur stopped, biting his cheek. Glancing furtively around the kitchen, he poked his head into the hallway and out the window to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, he turned back to Elyan. “Do you know if she…likes to be courted in a certain way?”

Courted? Elyan bit back a laugh. What were they, in the 1950s? When was the last time he heard anyone saying ‘courted’ but in an old movie? Then again, Arthur felt like he came out of an old movie. Kinda like an extremely young grandpa. Arthur was still looking at him expectantly and Elyan dug his nails into his arm to keep the mirth from showing on his face. “I know of a thing or two. Why?”

“Why?” Arthur looked at him, flabbergasted. “You know why. I wish to woo her.”

“Right. Not going well, is it?” Elyan nodded his head sympathetically. Gwen had complained about his most recent attempts during their late-night snacks. Between amusement and annoyance, he wasn’t sure which emotion was winning in her. “The flowers, the jewe—”

“You don’t need to list them out,” Arthur interrupted quickly, his ears bright red. “You got the point.”

Yeah. He completely did. Sometimes, he couldn’t understand just how Gwen ended up with Arthur. How Arthur had fallen for Gwen. They had been so different, so opposing. In terms of class, in terms of status, in terms of view points. And yet…it had happened once. Maybe it could happen again. She’d be happy. Elyan rubbed his chin, considering his sister. “She likes music.”

Arthur perked up. “I have caught her humming a few times.”

“You could try singing to her. She’d like that.” Elyan frowned, remembering his brief survey of Merlin’s house. There were relics from every century hanging in the house, but somehow nothing that matched their needs. “No instruments, no loud speakers—I guess you’ll have to acapella it. Can you?”

“Acapella?” Arthur asked, brows knitted in confusion.

Right. This word probably didn’t exist back then. “Sing without instruments. You have a good singing voice?”

His chest puffed up with pride and Arthur snorted dismissively. “Of course I do. It’s part of every noble’s upbringing.”

Ah, the privilege of royalty, Elyan thought dryly. Sometimes he forgot just how arrogant Arthur could be. “Right, right. I’ll find a song she likes.”

“Excellent.” Arthur rested his hands on his hips, staring out the window. It was a gloomy day, the clouds low and heavy. A rare case in this strange paradise. Elyan could count on his fingers just how many times it had rained in Avalon. “It shouldn’t take long to master. Maybe at sunset in three days? On the dock?”

Very romantic. It could work. Even if Arthur was wrong and had the scratchiest voice, Gwen would appreciate the sentiment. “Make it sunrise. Under her window.”

“Huh?” Arthur turned to Elyan, dumbfounded. “She isn’t a morning person.”

“No, but there’s this really famous scene from this movie, and Gwen really likes that movie.” Elyan struggled to keep his straight face as he lied through his teeth. “It’s not a boombox, but your singing? It’s the right personal touch. Gwen will love waking up to it.”

“Really?” Arthur frowned, biting his cheek. Belief and disbelief warred on his face, the ex-king not at all good at hiding his emotions. His foot tapped on the ground as he stared up at where Gwen’s bedroom would be and then back at Elyan. A tinge of doubt remained in his tone. “And she’ll like this?”

“She will love it,” Elyan confirmed.

Biting his lip, Arthur stared up at the ceiling one last time. “Alright. Dawn it is.”

It was impossible not to feel a little guilty at the obvious satisfaction on Arthur’s face.

-x-

"Wait, slow down." Merlin stared at his phone, as though he could see Arthur's stupid mug on it. Maybe he should have thought the ex-King how to skype. If only to admonish him in person. "You did what?"

"I sang under her window. It's a romantic gesture!" Arthur defended. "A modern gesture, even! Your movies have it all the time.."

"Hmmm....yeah." Merlin rubbed his forehead, not sure what to tell him. "You know you can't sing, right?"

"I can sing better than some of your actors." Arthur snorted. "I don't understand how entertainers have become 'modern royalty' with those skills."

"...that I can't really explain either." Merlin stared out the window. "Anyways, movies aren't always real and even if Gwen would have liked it, I don't think she would have liked it at five in the morning."

"The sun was out," Arthur retorted softly.

"Just barely. People don't like waking up at the crack of dawn." Merlin sighed. "Have you tried talking to Elyan?"

"Yeah, he was the one who suggested--" Arthur cut himself. "He didn't."

Merlin laughed. He'd have to text Elyan later. "Trick you? Probably."

"Well, I guess he wants some really vigorous training tomorrow." Arthur growled.

"Don't kill him, Gwen will like that even less." Merlin pressed his hand against the cool glass. "Morgana and Mordred aren't here anymore."

"I didn't think they'd be," Arthur answered bitterly. "They're good at running. Like rats."

"I'll try to find them again, so we'll be gone a little longer." Merlin swallowed. "Something was wrong here, like all the magic was drained out."

"Maybe Morgana drained it out? Can you even do that?" Arthur asked.

"I don't think so, but the druids might know a way." Merlin lowered his eyes. There were no druids left to ask, all wiped out. "I don't know why she'd do it though."

"A super weapon. A bomb," Arthur suggested. Someone had been watching way too many cold war movies. Merlin knew Elyan had offered to give him a list of movies to watch and educate him, but maybe he should have checked that list.

"I don't think that's it." Not from a witch who wanted to protect magic. Unless...she was truly revenge bound. Maybe she was just powering herself up. Her and Mordred's signals were weak and he wasn't sure if was just because magic in general was weak or if their magic was weak. “Either way, I’m not going to find out here.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Ugh, this is creepy.” Mordred shivered. It had been one thing to climb down a set of stairs to a small, white room, the walls covered with pictures of skeletons and maps. That felt more or less like any of the dozen of museums he had gone to on a class trip. Even the scariest photo was just that, a photo. It was an entirely different thing to step out of the that lobby, through an unfinished door, and into the gloomy, dimly lit crypts proper. Sure, the crypts under Paris were as old as can be. Sure, he was technically able to handle any ghost that came his way. Magic. It was great.

But he had watched horror movies before he got his powers and some fears were hard to leave behind. Hell, even of his past life, as the ‘evil’ Mordred, his strongest memories were that of fear and loss. Sensations so deeply imbedded on his skin they might as well have been a scar.

That was neither here nor now, though. Here they were in a crypt under Paris, surrounded by dozens of tourists who wanted nothing more than to take their picture next to a wall of skulls. People were weird.

“I’m not so sure.” Morgana stopped and admired a wall. She cocked her head as she studied it. “There’s something rather neat about this.”

“Really?” At least the initial area was somewhat wide spaced, with several pillars. Which were also made of skulls. While there was a bench to sit on that looked like it was made of metal, Mordred was pretty sure if he peeled back the shiny silver coat, he’d fine even more bones underneath it. “What part of this is neat?”

“All of it?” Morgana looked at him as though he was an idiot. Maybe he was. This was a popular tourist attraction, after all. “The placement, the architecture, everything, really.”

“Right. Sure.” Mordred rolled his eyes, but nodded his head anyways. He glanced at the path they had to follow, a path that branched off left and right. Some areas along the tunnel looked absolutely dark, the faint strobe light only able to reach so far. “Should we get going?”

“You just want to get out of here,” Morgana huffed, but she followed after him anyways. Part of the path led to a gate, a sign indicating that private groups only went there. She glanced behind her. “No one’s looking.”

He pulsed his magic softly, breaking the lock. “Whoops.”

“Whoops?” Morgana peered over his shoulder. “Did you just—”

“It was a little weaker than I thought,” Mordred muttered, pushing the door open before they were caught.

“_Weaker, _please,” Morgana muttered, slipping through the entrance after him. She quickly shut it close. “Now we can’t even lock it again. You haven’t been practicing.”

At this, he glared at her. “Of course not. I didn’t think I’d be breaking into a tomb.”

“Crypt,” she corrected, her hands on her hips. “This is more than simple pick locking and thievery, Mordred, this is about control.”

“Right, right.” Mordred waved his hand dismissively. It wasn’t like magic had a ton of practical use, aside from helping out in chores. Technology was so much better in most cases even then. Ignoring her frown, he turned instead toward the bigger chamber they had entered. Despite how wide it was, the whole place still felt claustrophobic. Maybe because of how low the ceiling was. Or the pillars, which took up too much space. Trying to ignore all of his numerous fears, Mordred concentrated on detecting even the faintest trace of magic.

If what they’d discovered was true, the faintest might be the best he could get. To his right, he could sense a shift, a s disturbance. “I think someone’s near us.”

“Me too.” Morgana grabbed his hand. At his questioning stare, she shrugged and led the way. “So you don’t have to be so scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away. While he’d never admit it, there was something comforting about her grip.

“Riiight.” Over her shoulder, she smiled teasingly. “And your hands are just normally this sweaty.”

“It’s rather stuffy and hot down here,” he countered, his face red. A spike of magic and they turned right down a lesser used tunnel. The path before them was less beat, less travelled, and the skulls were more cracked and decayed. A cold sensation sent a shiver down his spine. “Did you feel that? They didn’t turn on the air conditioning, did they?”

“Of course not, you idiot, that’s just—” Morgana teasing got cut off as the lights suddenly flickered off, instantly plunging them into darkness.

A glowing white figure appeared in front of them and Mordred screamed.

-x-

“HA!” Lancelot stepped forward quickly, thrusting his sword forward in a quick jab.

Leon raised his sword to parry, blocking the strike. Taking a step backward, he moved out of Lancelot’s range. “That was rather good.”

“Thanks,” Lancelot panted, lowering his sword. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he glanced over to where Arthur was supervising.

Arms crossed, his foot tapped impatiently as he considered the fight. Turning to Leon, he critiqued, “You’re too defensive—you need to remember to strike when there’s an opening.” Switching his attention to Lancelot, his lip curled in distaste. “And _you_ have to add more power to your swings. He shouldn’t have blocked that.” Satisfied with his advice, he turned on his heel. “Repeat this twice more, at least. I’ll personally check Elyan.” He cracked his knuckles, his expression turning _irritatingly _smug. “I don’t think he’s had enough training yet.”

“…I pity the poor fool,” Leon sighed, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. “He really shouldn’t have played that prank.”

“I’m sure he had his reason.” Lancelot pulled up the hem of his shirt, dabbing his face with it. What he wouldn’t give for a cool breeze to blow off the nearby lake. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Arthur walk away. “He’s actually giving me advice.”

“Even if he hates you, he’ll still do his job.” Leon stood next to him, eyes trained on his liege. “He knows his duty.”

_Unlike you_ was the underlying implication. Lancelot’s heart sank. Why had Merlin left him here, with the two people who hated him the most? The king that he had wronged. The loyal knight who couldn’t let it go. Both of them talked to him in short, clipped sentences, their voice conveying with their faces hid. “That wasn’t me.”

“…maybe,” Leon admitted begrudgingly, his eyes lowered. His hand gripped his sword tightly. “You aren’t that Lancelot. But you still are Lancelot. There’s no guarantee you’re any different. Any better.”

That mistakes wouldn’t’ be repeated, no matter what oaths were sworn. Lancelot gritted his teeth, his voice failing him. It wasn’t like he had any evidence otherwise. There were reasons that stories put him on par with Mordred for the destruction of Camelot.

“Now, again.” Leon slipped back into his stance, his expression deadly. “Let’s see if you have Lancelot’s skills, at least.”

-x-

He was underwater. A small part of Tristan knew this was a dream, that the moonlight shining through the water’s surface was just his imagination, but he was entranced nonetheless. The water rippled above him, distorting the light. Slowly, he sank backwards, his arms outstretched, reaching for the light.

An image formed in front of him. The water grew denser and denser, into the shape of a woman. No, not just any woman—Isolde. Her golden hair glowed in the moonlight, and she reached out to him. Her expression was sad, her touch a gentle caress.

_This is not the way_, she murmured, her voice echoing in his ears. _You know that._

He opened his mouth to reply, but water flooded his throat. She smiled at him sadly.

_Tristan. _

Her appearance morphed, blonde hair turning brunette. Below her eyes, deep bags appeared and crease marks making her look worn. His wife stared at him, a tear running down her eye.

_Tristan._

Tristan woke up, panting.

-x-

“For fuck’s sake, Merlin,” Gwaine complained, yawning as he stumbled out of his room. He stretched his arms above him, his eyes barely open wider than a crack. “Arthur isn’t here. We don’t have any blasted morning practice. Can’t we just sleep in this once?”

Merlin looked up from where he was sipping his tea, his other hand ordering his clothes to pack themselves. Taking in his friend’s exhausted expression, complete with heavy eyebags, Merlin raised a brow. “Out late last night?”

“Yeah. Because we’re supposed to sleep in today.” Gwaine sank to the floor, resting his head against the wall. His eyes drifted shut. “Do a bloke a favour and just take the later flight.”

“Sure. I’ll call Morgana and tell her to wait.” Merlin rolled his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, a brush floated to Gwaine’s head and started to tame his unruly bed-hair. “We have to get going.”

“Going where?” Tristan asked, entering now. Gwaine cracked open an eye and groaned. Of course Tristan looked ready to bolt. When did the man ever look anything less than ready? Adjusting his cuffs, Tristan kicked Gwaine lightly, forcing him to budge slightly. “The bathroom’s free, get at it.”

“Percy can go next,” Gwaine bravely offered at a deep personal sacrifice. “I know he needs it more than me.”

“I already finished.” Percy poked his head in, giving Gwaine a pitying look. “You know that won’t work here.”

“I had to try at least.” Gwaine rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept so late last night.

“Anyways.” Tristan turned his attention back to Merlin. “Where are we going?”

“Athens.” Merlin rubbed his neck, his expression troubled. “I can’t quite pinpoint where they are—I keep trying to search for them, but either they’re blocking me or the signal coming back is too weak.”

“Signal?” Percy raised a brow, curious. “Like sonar?”

“Something like that.” Merlin’s lip quirked up into a smile. It was hard to describe magic, the exact feel of casting a spell. It was like explaining colour to a blind man, or sound to the deaf. “It’s just a guess, but they might head to Athens. The ley line here runs through it too. And if nothing else, the temples there are still standing. Its connections to the old ones is quite strong and well preserved, so I might be able to get a fix on them there.”

“The old ones?” Percy tapped his chin, considering it. “That’s not another word for the Roman gods, is it?”

Merlin stared at him, surprised. It was a more thoughtful question than he expected, but then again, this Percy wasn’t completely identical to the one he knew. “No, it’s not. Though I’m sure some had mistaken them for gods back then, so there might be shrines for them anyways.”

“Will these old ones harm us?” Tristan asked, taking a look at the various knives provided by the hotel room’s ensuite kitchen. Picking out the sharpest ones, he pocketed them. “I remember you talked about three old ladies?”

“Right.” Merlin’s expression darkened, remembering the old crones and their offer. If he had chosen life, chosen to let Mordred survive, would they have killed Mordred and protected Camelot? A question he would never know the answer to. “I don’t know. I haven’t had to deal with many old ones. They might. They might not. It really depends.”

“That’s encouraging.” Percy winced. “You can fight, right?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

“Athens, huh.” Gwaine stretched his arms above him, standing straight now. He ignored their conversation, adding, “Souvlaki. Women. What’s not to love?”

Not bothering to answer, Merlin just flicked his wrist and Gwaine’s clothes dragged him to the bathroom.

-x-

“Stay behind me,” Morgana ordered, immediately stepping in front of her brother. Her eyes glowed in the dark as she gathered her magic. “Who are you?”

Mordred couldn’t move, frozen in fear as he stared at the ghost. Her bone-white skin glowed, long red hair flowing around her like rivers of blood. She could almost be considered lovely, if not for the fathomless black eyes. Her figure blurred, changing from that of a young woman to an old crone. Her red hair turned white, looking more and more like a chain of bones. She raised a crooked finger, the nail as sharp as a knife, and gestured at them to come closer.

“Who are you?” Morgana repeated, energy swirling in her hand now.

Mordred still couldn’t move. She looked like she stepped out of a horror movie, like his darkest nightmares come to life. Despite himself, he reached out and gripped the back of Morgana’s shirt. There was something comforting about her physical presence, this confirmation of her existence, and he was able to move a step closer.

“Do not ask who I am,” the ghost croaked, her voice echoing in his head. “You are mages, are you not? Mortals with power, coming to seek out the old ones and the old ways.”

Morgana blinked, not certain how to respond. It wasn’t completely off the mark. “You know why we’ve come?”

“The state of the world is enough to guess. Even here, my magic wanes.” The spirit flickered, shifting back into the image of a young woman once more. Her voice smoothened, softer now. “Soon it will all be gone and with it, the world will wither.”

“Wither?” Morgana repeated, dumbfounded. “We’re going to die?”

“Perish, slowly.” The spirit closed her eyes, but Mordred could still see them, the black abyss that sucked everything in. “The world will wither and humanity with it.”

“What can we do?” Morgana pleaded, shaking her head in denial. “

“At the place where it ended, where it started, can the world be repaired.” She flickered back into an old woman, but the edges of her body started to disintergrate, like dust blowing away in the wind. “When powers combine, then can it all flow again.”

“Wait! What does that mean?” Morgana shouted, pulling out of Mordred’s grasp and running to the spirit.

“The once and future king has returned. A chance to change everything,” the spirit croaked. Morgana’s fingers reached to touch, to grab hold of her, but it was too late and the spirit disappeared entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I was very close to going Morgana/Gwen instead of Arthur/Gwen, but I'm writing this for my sister and I can't just kill her ship like that. XD
> 
> Next time, maybe.

Gwaine wasn’t sure if he liked airports anymore. He’d been in them too many times by now. When he was younger, he had wanted to be a treasure hunter. Like Indiana Jones, he’d travel the world, saving beautiful women and finding rare treasure. Clearly, Indiana Jones never had to deal with jetlag or travel fatigue.

At least he was getting through security easy. Having gone through the process over five times in one year, he was a bit of an expert: set carry on in bin, walk through metal detector, flirt with security officer as they pat him down for ‘forgetting his coins’, and pick up carry on. Simple, really.

As he waited for the others to clear through, Gwaine checked his phone.

_Gift ideas. Now._

He snorted. For an ex-king, Arthur certainly was having difficulties understanding the ‘ex’ part. Though he was typing pretty decently for someone well over a thousand years. Gwaine had tried to teach his mom and the closest he’d managed was getting her to type on a keyboard with two fingers. _You forgot the magic words._

It took a whole minute for a response. _What part of now don’t you understand?_

Hardball, huh? Gwaine had the upper hand, even if Arthur wouldn’t admit it. _Starts with a P sire_

_Please_.

Gwaine could almost hear Arthur’s gritted teeth, the crack on his phone’s screen as he typed those six letters. Ah, it was really too fun teasing the poor bloke. Far too easy too; there were so many things that set off Arthur that Gwaine really wondered what sort of king he had made. Now that left only one issue—to answer seriously, or to make him do something _terribly_ stupid.

-x-

“Elyan.” Gwen smudged dirt on her face as she wiped the sweat from her face. With a wince, she tried not to think about how dirty she looked, gardening behind Merlin’s house. From her brother’s expression as he tried to muffle his laughter, the answer was very. “Stop laughing.”

“I’m not.” Elyan schooled his face into one of perfect calm as he squatted next to her. It lasted all of ten seconds. She punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Stop. Laughing.” Gwen glared at him, stabbing the dirt with her trowel to emphasis her point. Gods, when she’d asked her brother to help her with the gardening, she’d thought of it as good chance to get to know him. A cute sibling thing to make them closer. Merlin had all this land he wasn’t maintaining well, flowers were nice to look at, and well, to be frankly honest, she had way too much time on her hands. There were only so many times she could draw the lake before she got bored.

And as far as vacations went, it was a little too docile and tranquil for her tastes. They’d been trapped in Merlin’s place for months now. She was getting a little stir crazy.

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop.” Elyan forced a serious expression on his face. “So?”

She stared at him suspiciously before giving up. “You heard Arthur in the morning?”

“I think the birds were woken by him, not vice versa.” Elyan chuckled. The ex-King wasn’t wrong—he actually had a really good voice. If a bit gruff from just waking up. “How’d you like the song.”

“I knew it.” Gwen crossed her arms, her finger tapping her forearm. “You set him up.”

“I did—” The expression on Gwen’s face darkened a little and Elyan swallowed. Yep. There was no way he was getting out of this safely. Leaning away from her, he held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

“I thought so. He’s a moron, but not that big of a moron.” Gwen sighed, leaning closer to him. She flicked him in the arm. “Why’d you do it?”

“I thought it’d be funny?” Elyan offered weakly, rubbing his arm.

Gwen sent him an exasperated look, not buying it. “He’s funny enough on his own, you didn’t need to help him. Why’d you do it?”

Elyan looked away, rubbing circles on his arm. “…I didn’t step up, last time.”

“Last time?” Gwen raised a brow, not following.

“When he banished you. When you suffered. When Dad died. I wasn’t there for any of that and now, now I am.” Elyan looked at her, clasping her hand in his. “So I want to help you if I can. And…well, get a little revenge.” When Gwen’s jaw went slack, he defended himself. “He had it coming, you know he did.”

“…I…” Gwen leaned her head on his shoulder. “All of that, you’re talking about Camelot, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Elyan closed his eyes. His strongest memories were those of his sister. Those of him failing his sister. Even when they had gone to the dark tower to rescue her, he hadn’t managed to make it all the way to the end.

“You know I don’t remember any of that.” When Elyan opened his mouth to interrupt, she shushed him. “I don’t _care _about any of that. You’re my brother now. You’re with me now. Dad is alive now. The present is all I know and all I really want to know about.”

“…but I still remember.” Elyan looked up at the blue sky, a sky that hadn’t changed since back then. If a tree fell in a forest and no one heard, did it really fall? If he had made a mistake and no one remembered, did it actually happen? For Elyan, the answer was yes. A resounding yes. The sin was tattooed on his soul, just as Lancelot’s was carved on his. “I know. And I have to make amends.”

“This is so stupid,” Gwen mumbled, her lips a set line. “All this talk about a past that doesn’t matter anymore. About people who don’t exist anymore. Morgana and Mordred have to run because of something they never did. You have to train to fight to uphold an oath you never made.”

“I did make it,” Elyan disagreed. He remembered the words, the cool steel laid flat on his shoulders. The red cloaks marking him as Camelot’s knight.

“No, you didn’t.” Gwen pulled back, shaking her head. “You all are so obsessed with this past, but you’re not that person. Not anymore. You’re Elyan, the American. Elyan, the photographer. Maybe I can only see this because I don’t have those memories.”

“Or maybe you can’t see it because you don’t remember,” Elyan replied blithely, but her words stuck to him. He’d seen how Lancelot had changed, how Tristan despaired. Maybe she was right. They were chaining themselves to things long gone.

“We’ll agree to disagree.” She punched him in the shoulder again. “Anyways, don’t pull something like that with Arthur again. He’ll crash and burn on his own, he doesn’t need you to help him.”

“Not a bit of confidence in him?” Elyan asked wryly.

“Not at all.”

Elyan winced.

-x-

Waiting for Gwaine and Merlin to leave the bathroom, Percy glanced at a nearby duty-free shop. A rack of postcards caught his eye and he skimmed the different images, with words like _Greece _and_ A Great Holiday!_ written out in fun blue ink. There were pictures of the Partheneon, of the streets, of Athens after dark.

Soon, he’d see all of that. Well, maybe not all of that—Merlin wouldn’t let them just wander around, not now that he was seriously concerned about what Morgana was doing. But some of it was definitely in their schedule. He picked up a postcard featuring Athena’s statue on it and flipped it. On the back was scrawled, _Wish you were here!_ and his mind immediately went to Rahul. Patiently-waiting-at-home Rahul. It had been days since he’d called him. Maybe now—no, it was noon in Athens, which meant early morning at home. Rahul would either still be sleeping or doing the morning chores.

Percy cracked a smile. Knowing his husband, it was the former. It was definitely the former. It was hard enough to wake him up with Percy’s cooking; without it, an impossible task. Picking up the postcard, he took it to the cashier.

At the very least, he would have some way of reminding Rahul that he was thinking of him.

-x-

“So.” Sitting out in the sunny streets of Paris, everything that happ ened underground felt more like a dream than reality. People strolled casually on the sidewalk, laughing and talking, and the cars slowly crawled during rush hour. “Can ghosts have dementia?”

“What?” Morgana looked up from the menu, staring at him in disbelief. “Really? Our first and potentially only sighting of an old one, and that’s how you want to take it?”

“I’m just stating a possibility. Ghosts can get old just like anyone else,” Mordred defended, crossing his arms. He gestured at the world around him with a tilt of his head. “Does this really look like a world about to crumble?”

“Well, no,” Morgana admitted, setting down the menu. Good, she was only going to add desert to her meal and Mordred didn’t think they could afford that anymore. “But think of everything else that’s happening—doesn’t it feel like the world is going to hell?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s all man made,” Mordred argued, rolling his eyes. “We did that to ourselves.”

“And maybe it’s worse than it should be because of this?” Morgana shrugged. Elbow on the table, she rested her head on her chin. “I’m sure she was right. Still, I can’t figure out what she meant.”

“Confused speech is yet another sign of dementia,” Mordred pointed out, taking a sip of water.

“Uh-huh.” Morgana smirked. “And none of this has to do with the fact that you were scared.”

He tried not to choke on the water. Wiping his mouth, he shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Sure, you chicken. Never thought you were that scared of ghosts.” Morgana laughed as he pouted, reaching out to pet his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, it was truly frightening. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”

Mordred narrowed his eyes. There was a catch. There was always a catch. “But you won’t shut up about it.”

“But I won’t shut up about it,” she repeated with a teasing grin. “You did actually freak out.”

He should have known. Morgana was never the type to let things go. Moodily staring at the pedestrians, he grumbled, “Why don’t you just go back to figuring out the riddle?”

“Don’t be too grumpy,” she cajoled, pulling out her map again. Spreading it on the restaurant table, she pointed at England. “I think wherever she meant, it has to be here. That’s where it started for us.”

“So, Stonehenge then? I don’t think they actually have much from back then.” Mordred crossing his arms, trying to remember what little he learned in history class. “Everything else is rubble.”

“Yeah, they don’t even have Camelot’s location right.” Morgana paused. “…unless Avalon is still around. That would be even older, wouldn’t it?”

Mordred snorted. “Yeah. It’s going to be hard enough getting back to England as is, without trying to go there. Merlin’s definitely set his base there.”

“It’s probably the reason his magic was so strong.” Morgana sighed, rolling up her map. “Somehow, we have to get there, without him noticing. And that means not using magic.”

“It’s not like we’re using much magic now.” Mordred stared at his fingers, feeling an undercurrent of energy just waiting to pop out. Honestly, though he had never found much use for it, he sorta missed magic. Missed using it in stupid ways like getting his hat from his room or tying his shoelaces.

“No, but I don’t want us to get on his radar.” Morgana rubbed her neck absentmindedly, no doubt remembering their first run in with Merlin. “I think he won’t actually look for us if we stay away, but going anywhere near him…he’ll take that as a threat.”

“As if we’re the ones who threatened him, and not the other way around,” Mordred glowered darkly.

“Don’t,” Morgana cut him off sharply, her voice stern. “We’re not going to fight. Gwen’s with him, that could hurt her. And…I don’t want to do that. Be as I was back then. She wasn’t happy.”

“Are we really happy now?” Mordred asked, scorn filling his voice. “Running from one place to the next? Nothing’s changed. Uther isn’t around and we’re still hunted like rats.”

“We’re not!” Morgana denied, shaking her head. “We just…can’t go back.” She lowered her eyes, her words hollow even to herself. “It’s just for now. I’m sure…I’m sure we will return eventually. Just give me time to figure something out.”

Before Mordred could argue any further, a waiter walked over to their table. A big plate was in either hand and he set one down in front of Mordred. “The Mexican-style burger.” The other plate was placed in front of Morgana. “The classic pizza. I hope you enjoy, let me know if you need anything.” With a short bow, the waiter left the patio.

“This is lunch?” Morgana cocked her head. “We ordered, this right?”

Mordred stared at this big burger, almost the size of the dinner plate. It was huge, just as Morgana’s pizza was far more than she could eat. The restaurant’s serving portions were ridiculous. “Do they want me to burst?”

“Maybe they cater to starving people.” Morgana turned her plate, trying to find a better angle to start with. Unfortunately, it looked the same no matter what side she looked at it. “I don’t think I can eat all of this.”

“Me too.” Mordred chuckled, a thought hitting him. “But I bet Gwen could have eaten this.”

Morgana stared at him, before cracking a smile. “She can eat anything. Isn’t that why her dad told her to get an apartment? She was eating him out of house and home.”

“I bet she could have ordered her own meal and still have room for our leftovers.” Mordred snickered, picturing Gwen’s ecstatic face. Her hand on her cheek, her eyes closed with bliss. It had been months since they’d last seen her, when usually it’d only be days. He half expected her to appear behind him sometimes, her bright eyes filled with mirth.

“I can recall Gwen wanting to go on a trip with us,” Morgana softly said, staring at her pizza. “Across Europe, all of us backpacking and filling up a summer. When she had enough vacation days and you were completely done with school.”

“Really?” Mordred ran a hand through his hair. How different this would all feel, if they had her with them. “It would have been fun.”

-x-

Tristan adjusted the pack on his shoulders, glancing at the large monitors hanging on the airport’s walls. Flight after flight was listed on the rows, departures and arrivals in a large confusing mess. There was one to Paris, another to New York, a flight to almost every corner of the world. Even Latvia was listed in one of the rows, a flight that left in a few hours. Knowing his home as he did, there would be a seat or two free on the plane. There always was.

“Tristan?” Percy called from ahead, turning to look over his shoulder. “Something the matter?”

He stared at Latvia one last time before turning away. Catching up to his acquittances, he shook his head. “Nothing.”

“If you say so.” His tone skeptical, Percy held out a postcard. “Think we have time to stop at a post office? I think Rahul will like this one.”

“Aha. I was wondering why you were calling him less often.” Gwaine plucked it out of Percy’s hand. “_Greetings from Athens?_ That’s really cheesy, Perce.” He gave a disapproving sigh as Percy snatched it back. “I thought you had better taste than that.”

“It’s a postcard! By definition, it’ll be cheesy.” His cheeks faintly red, Percy started to walk faster. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough to outpace Gwaine. Not when he was in a playful mood, at least.

-x-

_Morgana._ Gwen stared at the typed letters, at the impersonal feel the Times New Roman font gave. It wasn’t like she could change it much. No matter what she did, she was sending her feels in a text, not by voice.

Not that she could help it. Morgana’s inbox was full and she never picked up her phone. There were only so many ways a person could reach out to another, especially if the other was refusing a connection.

_Morgana, how are you?_

They used to have serious conversations, long into the night. About politics and their favourite shows and would either of them snag Harry and get a chance to be British royalty. And now her messages were reduced to four words a day, a single repeated plea for a connection. Gwen wasn’t sure which was worse—getting no response, or seeing that little check mark indicating her messages were read.

Did Morgana want to reply? Was she too scared to? Did Morgana not want to reply? Was she unable to find the words to tell Gwen to stop?

It haunted her. More than she wanted to admit. Months ago, when Camelot’s knights had barged into her living room and into her life, when Morgana had cast a spell and vanished in a puff of smoke, could Gwen have done something different? Reached out, grabbed Morgana’s hand, forced her to stay? Or forced her to take her with her?

Merlin had promised he’d try to talk to her, but those were just words. None of the knights believed her when she said Morgana was just an ordinary woman. That Mordred was just a normal graduate who played games just a little too much. That these two were her neighbours for years and she knew them better than anyone else.

Gwen stared at the text and erased it all. Not today. No, today she’d go for something funny.

_Hey, I guess we both got to be British royalty? But since I married in, do I win the bet?_

-x-

“So this is it.” Gwaine whistled lowly as they stepped into the Acropolis. An ancient complex, the ruins here were better preserved than the ones in Delphi and even a layman like him could imagine what the past looked like. “Pretty decent.”

Tristain looked at him disdainfully. “This is wasted on you.”

“It really is,” Percy agreed sadly, patting his friend on the back. “Maybe we should have brought Elyan with us—I’d love to see his photos.”

“Are you saying you’d rather have that nerd than me?” Gwaine growled when Percy merely nodded. Turning to Merlin, he asked, “Did you hear that?”

“Huh?” Staring at a stand of his hair, Merlin blinked at his sudden inclusion to the conversation. When all three of them turned to him, he gave an awkward smile. “Uh…yes?”

Rolling his eyes, Gwaine crossed his arms. “Are you still going on about that?”

“No. Nope. Not in the least.” Merlin’s expression grew more strained as he tried to lie, his head shaking furiously. “Just thinking I need a bath, that’s all.”

“You’re a _terrible_ liar.” With a sigh, Gwaine closed his eyes. Merlin had been like this for the past few hours, ever since he’d caught his reflection in the mirror. At first it was kinda cute, but by now it was annoying. “It was just three white hairs. I’ve seen more in the mirror.” He pointed at Tristan. “Hell, he’s all white hair.”

“My hair turned white in my 20s. It’s genetic,” Tristan mumbled when Percy looked at him questioningly.

“But it’s white hair.” Finding the white hair once more, Merlin tugged on it lightly, drawing everyone’s attention to it once more. “I’m several hundred years old. _I don’t do white hair._”

“Show off,” Gwaine scoffed dryly.

Percy shrugged dismissively. A white hair was a white hair, there was no point in this argument. “I’m surprised you only have three.”

“Yeah, you should have at least one for every hundred years.” Coming closer, Gwaine examined the white hair. It was thin, barely visible in the daylight, and all in all, just like the ones he’d seen in the mirror. “And it doesn’t even look magical. An ordinary white hair.”

“You are all missing the point,” Merlin groaned, burying his face in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and gestured at his body. “I haven’t aged since Camelot. No wrinkles, no grey hairs, nothing.”

“Show off!” Gwaine confirmed, folding his arms behind his head. Honestly, it sounded like bragging at this point.

Ignoring Gwaine, Merlin continued. “I have not aged once since then, and now I have a grey hair. Three grey hairs. And there’s a wrinkle on my face. My body is finally growing older.”

“Congratulations?” Percy asked, punching his fist hesitantly in the air.

“Are you aging at a normal rate?” Tristan asked, catching on much faster than the other two. “Or is it accelerated?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted, despondant. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumped. “I think it is, but I can’t tell yet. I’m not even sure what age I was I stopped growing.”

“A tiny teenager,” Gwaine joked. When Merlin didn’t respond, he dropped the smile. Squeezing Merlin’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine. We’re here for you.”

Reluctantly, Tristan added, “Might not know anything about magic, but science…that could help.” His voice was low, barely audible.

“Careful, we’ll think you care.” Gwaine smirked.

-x-

Morgana snorted, resisting the urge to text, _Not British royalty, doesn’t count._


	6. Chapter 6

The ruins in the Acroplois were nothing like Delphi. Entire buildings stood intact here, columns standing firm and strong despite the test of time. They withstood the wear and tear of millions of hands touching them, leaning closer for that better shot.

It was hard to concentrate in the midst of all this noise. Delphi had been almost empty compared to this place. All Merlin needed was a quiet space, out of prying eyes. A place where he could think. Yet it was impossible to find a clear patch of land, let alone one that no one was looking at. Eyebrow twitching, Merlin massaged his forehead. “This is impossible. Way too many people to concentrate.”

“Definitely too many.” Gwaine shoved his hands in his pocket, winking at a handsome man as he walked past. “It’s hard to choose.” He whistled appreciatively as he turned from tourist to tourist.

“Focus.” Percy growled, yanking on Gwaine’s collar and pulling him closer to their group. With his farmer’s grip and the bulk from Arthur’s training, Gwaine couldn’t escape no matter how hard he squirmed. “That’s what got you into trouble last time.”

A mistake. Too late, Percy regretted his words. Hurt briefly darkened Gwaine’s expression and he ground out, “I wouldn’t do that again.”

“I…” Taken aback, Percy ran a hand through his hair. There was no way to take back what he said, no matter how much he wished he could. “No, you’re right. That wasn’t fair.”

“There’s nothing fair about our lives.” Gwaine shrugged, forcing a smile on his face. “It’s fine, you’re right. I’ll focus

“No, it’s fine.” Gwaine shrugged, forcing a smile on his face. “I’ll focus.”

Shaking his head, Percy reached out to his friend. “Gwaine, really—”

“I think I found a place.” Tristan appeared out of nowhere and Percy jumped, taken aback. “Follow me.”

Staring at his retreating back, Percy whispered, “When did he leave?”

“You got me.” Gwaine’s jaw dropped, disbelief colouring his face. “I thought he was beside you. You sure he doesn’t have any magic?”

“Probably,” Merlin whispered back. “But we can’t rule it out.”

“Coming?” Tristan stopped, looking over his shoulder with a disapproving frown. “Otherwise, I’m heading to the nearest bar.”

“Coming!” They chimed synchronically, scrambling across the stony terrain to follow.

Walking past the temples to Zeus and Athena, Tristan continued to stride across the wide expanse. The tourists around them paid no mind. Eventually, they reached a rocky outcrop with just a few broken columnaides. Completely unimpressive compared to the partially restored Pantheon, tourists gave it a brief glance before continuing down the pathways to the more interesting spots. Even their eyes seem to just glide over it. Only a few stragglers sat there, tired and needed a break from everything. “Better?”

“Much better.” Merlin sat down on a smooth slab. “This is totally a historical piece, isn’t it?”

“Oh definitely,” Gwaine agreed. Gesturing around him with wide arms, he raised a brow. “Is there anything here that ain’t?”

“…good point.” Taking a deep breath, Merlin closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly, his chest raising. On exhale, the air rushed out of him before he tried to gulp more in. His eyes opened, glowing gold, and Percy tried not to shiver. No matter how many times he’d seen them flicker between black and gold, he couldn’t get used to it. There was something unnatural about it. After a couple a minutes, he whispered, “Who’s calling?”

“…us?” Percy answered, trying to feel too scared as he casually glanced around them. Nope. No one was close enough to even be mistaken for talking to Merlin.

“I can’t hear you properly,” Merlin continued, still talking to their invisible friend. “Please, say it again. Louder.” Finally, after ten minutes, Merlin’s eyes turned back to their natural brown colour and his shoulders slumped forward.

“And?” Gwaine asked, staying a careful distance away from Merlin. He swatted at the empty air in front of him. “Is your friend still here? What happened?”

“Not a friend.” Merlin dug his fingers into his arm. Softly, he muttered, “I…I heard a voice. An old one. But it was weak, really really weak.”

“A voice?” Percy asked, repressing a shiver. “Like a ghost?”

“Kinda. She was definitely an ancient being but…her voice was so weak. So thin. I could barely hear her, let alone understand her.” Merlin gritted his teeth, scuffing his toe on the ground. “This isn’t right, I used to be able to see them.”

“What did she say?” Tristan asked, straight to the point as usual.

“…something about magic being drained. From the earth? From the places? I don’t know. Magic is getting weaker.” Merlin scrunched his face, trying to remember the cryptic words left to him. “It can be reversed, but it’ll be hard.”

“…ok, not that I think it’s a great thing that it’s happening or whatever, but why do we need to reverse magic again?” Gwaine asked. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged when everyone stared at him. “It’s an honest question. It’s not like we need it for anything.”

“You’re right.” Tristan crossed his arms. “We’ll stop Morgana, but…does the rest matter? We can just ignore it. It’s not like magic has helped us.”

“No!” Merlin bit his cheek, shaking his head. “No. We have to reverse this. Fix this. We…” He gripped the edges of the rock slap tightly. “The world needs magic. It’s intertwined with magic. To remove one to remove the balance.”

“…what happens when the balance is gone?” Percy asked carefully.

“…I don’t know.” Merlin scratched his head, a sigh on his lips. “I just don’t know. But it won’t be good.”

“I thought you said magic was disappearing anyways.” Tristan pursed his lips, not happy with where this was going. “Even before Morgana came.”

“You’re right.” Merlin hunched over, looking small as he considered it all. “I should have been paying attention to this before it got to this point. It might not be related to Morgana or she might be making it faster, but we’ll have to deal with it after we stop her.”

“Fine. We’ll discuss after.” Tristan frowned disapprovingly. “Did you find Morgana?”

“I..” Merlin’s eyes widened and he sheepishly shook his head. “No.”

“A hint, maybe?” Gwaine asked hopefully.

“They weren’t here.” Merlin’s face fell and he buried his head in his hands. “Oh man. I’ve lost them.”

“Oh that’s just great.” Gwaine sank to his feet, squatting low with his chest on his legs. His arms dragged on the ground as he moaned. “We’re back to start.”

-x-

“Lancelot!” Merlin greeted on the other side of the call, his voice upbeat. “How are things over there?”

“The same.” Opening the jeep door, Lancelot dangled his legs off the side. Just outside of Avalon’s borders, the weather rapidly cooled and he felt a shiver run through his spine at the difference. Despite making this drive daily, he couldn’t get used to this change. “No sign of them so far.”

“Hmm…yeah, same here.” Merlin sighed. “I just wish I knew what they’re up to.”

“Gwen thinks it’s nothing,” Lancelot commented, glancing out the jeep’s rear window. Gwen was standing on the side of the road, just two meters behind, her phone in hand. Whenever someone went out for the bi-daily report, she insisted on joining. No doubt she was texting Morgana.

Considering her expression as she stared at her phone, it was a futile attempt at contact.

“Of course she does,” Merlin breathed. “Ever the optimist.”

“It’s a good thing.” Lancelot’s lips quirked into a smile and he waved when she noticed his stare.

“True,” he conceded. “It helped a lot. After.” Merlin paused. “But, seriously, how are you?”

“…good enough.” Lancelot ran a hand through his shaggy hair. The tips brushed his nape and there was something comfortable about his lion’s mane.

“Good enough,” Merlin repeated and Lancelot could just picture the frown on his face. For once, though, he didn’t press the issue. “I was thinking of going to Paris, it’s a ley line too. But the magic there might be too weak. Especially if it’s already too weak here.”

Paris. Lancelot lowered his eyes. He thought of his home often, of the canals and winding streets, of the fusion of old and new. “That is too bad. It’s lovely this time of year.”

“Thought so.” Merlin chuckled. “I always miss the best times to go. Maybe after all of this…it’d be nice to see Paris again.”

“Yeah.” Lancelot closed his eyes, leaning sideways against the driver’s seat. He could see the crowds rushing to visit the tourist spots, the workers weaving between to reach their work. “I haven’t had home cooking in a while. I miss the taste.”

“I never developed a fondness for it,” Merlin admitted. “Too much butter. Or cream.”

“Then there is little you will like, my friend.” Lancelot laughed. “Are you sure you want to visit Paris? Or France, for that matter?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered firmly. “I’ll go with you, you can guide me around. Maybe even convince me to like the food.”

“Or I can just feed you a snail,” Lancelot joked.

“Not even for you.” Merlin declined immediately.

“You might be surprised.” Lancelot shrugged. “You could like it.”

“No, definitely not.” Merlin couldn’t hide the distaste in his voice. “But I can watch you eat it instead.”

“No, I’m not a fan of it either.” With a shudder, Lancelot remembered trying it once on a dare. He had almost vomited immediately after.

“Great, then we can never speak of this again.” There was a crashing sound on the line and Merlin groaned. “And I should see what that was. I’ll call again in the morning.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Lancelot grinned as he ended the call. Maybe Merlin just hadn’t been to the right places in Paris. The right cook could convince him that butter was god’s gift to men.

“Done?” Gwen slid into her side of the car, a quizzical expression on her face. “You look happy.”

Lancelot blinked. A peek at the rearview mirror confirmed her words—the smile was still on his face. He blinked. More than that, he felt light, lighter than he had in days. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“That’s good.” Gwen grinned, resting her cheek in her hand. She appraised him thoughtfully before winking. “You’re really handsome when you smile.”

“Whaaa—” Lancelot’s ears burned and he fumbled with his seatbelt. His fingers kept slipping on the metal buckle and no matter how much he tugged, the belt refused to budge. “I…This isn’t…”

“Ahahaha.” Gwen bent over, laughing. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she shook her head. “Don’t take it so seriously. It’s just good to see you happy for once. You were really gloomy for so long.”

“I suppose I was.” He took a deep breath, calming himself. Right. Gwen had always been a little mischevious, but in this era, she was downright a tease. The only thing about her that remained immutable was her appearance and how soft her eyes looked. “We were just talking about Paris.”

“Paris…” Gwen mused, picking at the stray threads on her cardigan. Her eyes lowered. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Really?” Lancelot blinked, surprised. That made two people now who planned to visit his beloved hometown. He turned on his car, the engine humming to life beneath his fingertips. “I can give you and Merlin a tour. The best bars, restaurants, shops, you name it.”

“Sounds fun.” She gave him a lopsided grin which quickly fell. “I was going to go with Morgana and Mordred but…that might not be possible anymore.”

He had almost forgotten the three were childhood friends. Some things never changed. The connections between people, the links that bound them together. “Maybe...”

“Maybe,” Gwen repeated, shrugging her shoulders with a sigh. “You never know. Maybe I’ll be able to keep everyone alive.”

“I know you can,” Lancelot agreed firmly. Pulling the car onto the road once more, he made a u-turn. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

“Aww, thanks.” Gwen tucked a stray lock behind her ears, looking a little bashful.

They’d been in the car for only a few minutes and already Lancelot had seen a plethora of expressions. Part of him could see why he’d had an affair with her so long ago—there was something so easy about liking Gwen. So natural. She had a charm about her.

Catching his stare, her grin grew wider. “Like what you see?”

Lancelot firmly jerked his eyes to the road.

-x-

It was every kid’s dream—to stay in a hotel, to eat out every night, to not have to care about school or work or any other part of normal life. Hell, Gwaine didn’t even have to worry about bills, what with Merlin footing everything.

Gwaine was very tired of this dream and wanted to wake up from it. He never realized just how much he could miss his mother’s burnt casserole or even the familiar faces from his latest temp job. He even yearned for the structure of it all, the daily work hours. Apparently there was something as too much vacation and he’d found his limits.

When they’d reached back to the hotel, dispirited and disillusioned, everyone had split up. Percy had gone for a walk. Tristan had disappeared as usual. Merlin was sitting out on the balcony, trying to search for Morgana and Mordred again. Grabbing a drink from the minifridge, Gwaine stepped out onto the narrow ledge himself. The view wasn’t anything special, partially blocked out by other buildings. Next to the door, Merlin sat on a chair, staring out at nothing.

“You asleep?” Gwaine asked, taking the chair next to him. Surrounded by the hotel’s pots, he could almost pretend he was at his sister’s place.

Merlin frowned, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. “Concentrating.”

“Sure looked like you were daydreaming.” Gwaine took a sip of his beer. The bitter taste flooded his throat. “I’m guessing they don’t want to be found.”

“They never do.” Merlin sighed, leaning back on his chair. He closed his eyes. “And now I’m not even certain if Morgana is draining the places or not.”

“Well, she’s up to something, at the very least.” He rolled the cold can in his hands. The scars on his wrists burned, a reminder of past failures. “No way she’s doing nothing.”

“She’s like you now, you know.” Merlin turned his head, looking at him. “Reincarnated. She might not be evil this time.”

“And she might just be biding her time,” Gwaine countered, dispassionately. “Arthur came back for a reason. _We_ came back for a reason. You said it yourself. Who else could it be but because of her?”

“…I guess.” Giving up, Merlin stared up at the cloudy sky. “Either way, can’t confirm it till I find her, and I just can’t anymore.”

“Maybe we can just guess where she’s going? You said spots with magic, right? What else is there?” Gwaine asked, trying to remember the plots to all of his favourite movies. If there was one advantage to the current era, it was that there were so many shows and movies and books with similar plots. One of them had to be helpful. “We can get there before her, even.”

“It’s something at least.” Merlin rubbed his forehead. “I…let’s see. Here. Paris. Avalon. Ireland. Machu Pichu. Tokyo. Others.”

“Hmm…and since you still have to pay for things, she’s definitely also paying for travel. No teleportation or flying.” Gwaine rubbed his jaw. “She’s probably going for the closest ones. So Paris, Avalon, and Ireland?”

“Arthur’s in Avalon. Ireland has more power than Paris—we should go there.” Merlin’s expression brightened for the first time in hours. “I might be able to communicate better with the old ones there too.”

“Great. It’s a plan then.” Gwaine grinned, happy that his friend recovered. He reached over and ruffled his hair. “Finally smiling, huh? Thought you were going to add to your grey hairs.”

Merlin swatted his hands away, anxiously clutching his head. “There aren’t more, are there?”

“Afraid of looking even more like an old man?” Gwaine snorted, shaking his head. “You’re fine.”

-x-

“Mordred, do you feel that?” Morgana stopped walking. Fortunately, they were walking along the canal, so there were fewer dirty looks shot her way as people flowed around them, like water diverging around a rock.

“Feel what?” Mordred closed his phone, saving his spot mid-battle. Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he stood next to her. When she didn’t say anything, he glanced at the canal and then the people walking around them. “The breeze?”

“No…it’s more like a…sharp jab?” Morgana slowly explained, struggling to find the words. “Like someone’s poking at me.”

“Poking you,” Mordred repeated blankly, peering around her to check her back. All clear. He pressed a hand against her forehead. “Doesn’t feel like a fever.”

“I’m not sick,” she growled, swatting away his hands. “So you don’t feel anything?”

“Hmm, not really.” Mordred paused, then pressed his fingers into his head. “Actually, I think I have headache.”

“A headache…” Morgana mused, considering it. She closed her eyes. “Actually, it does kinda feel like that. Shallowly. Close your eyes—you might be able to sense it then.”

“I sense we need a Tylenol,” he muttered, but obediently closed his eyes anyways. The headache grew stronger as he focused on it, like a pickaxe hitting the side of his head. They were definitely buying painkillers on the way home. “I think it made it worse.”

“Focus,” his sister snapped.

“Trying to make it a migraine?” He focused nonetheless, breathing in, breathing out. Focusing on the pain, sharpening it. It wasn’t a headache. More like a signal. A weak message sent to him, even weaker being sent back out. “What is this?”

“I don’t know. Is someone trying to contact us?” Morgana answered, perplexed.

“Who—” Mordred opened his eyes, realization dawning on him. “Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Morgana opened her eyes now, staring at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like…like those submarines. The sonar thing they have. He’s trying to find us.” Mordred gritted his teeth. Considering what had happened the last two times they met, it wasn’t hard to guess why. “He’s going to kill us.”

“No…we left England.” Legs weak, Morgana crumpled to the ground. Her hands curled into fists and she punched the ground. “We left. And we haven’t done anything. So why?”

“He hates us,” Mordred stated simply, crouching next to her. “He’s gonna wipe us out.”

“But…” Morgana stared at the ground, tears forming at the edges of her eyes. Wiping them, she swallowed. “He hasn’t found us. Not yet.”

“I think the response is too weak.” Mordred looked up at the clear blue sky. Such an ordinary sight and colour, unlike the despair he felt. “I didn’t even know he could do that.”

“He’s _Merlin_,” Morgana sniped, spitting out his name like a curse. “He can do anything.” Determine now, she squeezed his shoulder. “But I won’t let him get us. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

_And you?_ He wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. That was not the expression of a woman who expected to survive. The pit in his stomach grew, fear and rage warring.


	7. Chapter 7

“Leon?” Gwen entered Merlin’s living room, spotting her friend sitting on a leather couch. It seemed that despite Merlin’s impossible-to-reach location, he still managed to get his furniture delivered. Or maybe he used magic. “There you are.”

Reading a book, Leon gave a noncommittal grunt. After a few seconds, he flipped the page, his head tilting slightly as he read.

“Leon?” When he still didn’t respond, Gwen plopped onto the couch next to him. She patted his arm. “Catching up on your reading?”

Leon looked up from his novel, staring at her for a long moment. He blinked once, twice, before recognizing her. “Gwen.” He tilted his head, peering down at his book. “Yeah.”

Gwen covered her mouth, giggling. “That interesting, huh?”

“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Leon rubbed his cheeks. More alert now, he rubbed his neck. “Sorry, I sometimes get a little…stuck when I’m reading.”

“I could tell. You didn’t really seem to hear me.” Her lips quirked, terribly amused. “I think you forgot your own name there for a moment.”

“…maybe,” Leon admitted reluctantly, averting his gaze. His fingers curled around the edges of his book. “When I was a kid, I got in trouble a lot because of this.”

“Really?” That surprised her. Considering how put together Leon seemed, she thought he was the type to never get in trouble.

With a sheepish smile, Leon nodded. “My parents calling me for dinner, the teacher starting class—I never noticed. Got a few detentions out of that…”

Now _that_ she could imagine. She giggled. “Well, there’s worse ways to get in trouble.” Gwen had never been a bad student, per se, but she got into her fair share of scraps. “At least you didn’t have to go the principal’s office after.”

“True, but are any of them as embarrassing as this?” Leon asked with an exasperated sigh. “I can’t even finish the story without someone snickering.”

“Guilty as charged.” Gwen leaned back onto the couch. This felt familiar, like one of their regular dinners back when they were apartment neighbours. Even his appearance didn’t look any different than it did back then, down to his corny t-shirts with their old-dad jokes. This was Leon, the United Nations worker who was out of his apartment just as much as he was in it.

Yet, he had never been just that. Unlike the other knights, he didn’t even have the claim that he didn’t know, that he had never known. Her eyes narrowed. “You always remembered, right?”

“Yeah.” Leon paused, then shook his head. “No, to be more accurate, I remembered after I was 15. My memories…they’re too much for a kid to take in. It’s too much for an adult to take in, but it’s, uh, easier. I guess. I won’t die, at least.”

“Huh.” That was still before they met. She kept her eyes trained on his face, observing his reaction. “Did you move next to me on purpose?”

Caught off guard, Leon managed an ineloquent, “Huh?”

“Did you move next to me on purpose?” she repeated, forcing herself to keep an even tone. A calm expression. “Because I was your ‘queen’?”

Leon looked down. His fingers played with the edges of his book and slowly, he replied, “Not exactly. I didn’t expect you when I moved there, but…I stayed because you were there.”

The answer she expected. Despite that, she still felt a pit of disappointment. “So that’s what it was.”

He looked at her, expression troubled. “Yet, you’re not exactly her.”

That surprised her. Gwen raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“My memories…unlike everyone else’s, they’re crystal clear. Photographic memory, as it’s called now.” Leon rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re similar to Queen Guinevere. Very similar. Just…not identical. There are differences. When I realized you didn’t remember, I was going to just leave you alone. You’re too good a friend, though. You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Sorry about that.” Gwen averted her gaze with a wince. “I was a bit…pushy, huh?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Leon chuckled. “Not that I helped, looking like I was going to keel over any moment.”

“I thought you weren’t eating.” Gwen’s shoulders sank as she considered how many times she’d kidnap him from his front door, forcing him to eat dinner at the very least. The gaunt look never left his face, no matter what she fed him. Realizing something, she asked, “Wait, is that why you and Morgana never ate together?”

He nodded. “Caught me there—whenever I heard she was coming, I stayed away. I didn’t want to reawaken memories that were best left buried. Though…I guess it looks like I didn’t have to worry about that.”

“She’s a good person,” Gwen stated. “She and Mordred, they’re both good people.”

“I believe you.” Leon looked away. “But…you don’t know how their memories might be affecting them. Lingering emotions, an overwhelming amount of information, all of it can change a person.”

Sensing this was about more than just them, she frowned. “Has it changed you? My brother? All those other guys?”

“Maybe.” Leon gazed at the palms of his hands, as though the answer were written in their lines. “I don’t know who I could have become. I’ll never know.” He glanced at her, his expression soft. “I’m envious of you.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen blinked, surprised.

“You aren’t saddled by any of this.” Outside, they heard a sharp clang, a sword striking a shield, and Leon closed his eyes. “I’m sure Arthur realizes this too. It’s just…he doesn’t want to let go.”

“I guess it would be.” Uncomfortable, she clutched her arm, hugging herself. As charming as Arthur was, as sweet as his gestures were, Gwen had always felt uncomfortable receiving them. They weren’t for her. They were never for her. They were for a nebulous shadow lingering over her shoulder, for a woman that she never knew. “He loved her deeply, didn’t he?”

“Very.” Leon opened his eyes. “Their time was cut short. To be left behind, or to go on alone, which is harder, I wonder?”

A question Gwen couldn’t answer.

-x-

“Wait, what did you just ask?” Elyan stared at the plates in his hand, pushed there by an overly forceful Arthur. Standing in the kitchen behind him, apron in one hand, frying pan in the other, Lancelot froze, just as confused.

“Gwaine told me that the best way to win your sister’s heart is to recapture the spark we had.” Arthur sauntered over to the fridge. Rubbing his chin, he frowned as he stared at the contents. “Is this all we have?”

“Grocery run is tomorrow,” Lancelot explained, slowly sliding out of the kitchen. “But I can do it today.”

“Now, we’ll make do.” Arthur snapped his head in Lancelot’s direction. Firmly, he commanded, “You. Stay. Your talents will be very useful.”

“Useful for what?” Elyan placed the plates on the counter, not following this at all. “What’s happening, exactly?”

“I’m recreating our first date. My cooks aren’t here and Merlin isn’t around to steal something for me, but you.” Arthur placed a hand on both Elyan’s and Lancelot’s shoulder. He gripped it firmly, giving no room for them to escape. “You two can cook.”

“Barely.” Elyan tried to pull away, but Arthur’s grip was like steel. For a brief moment, he understood the hell Merlin had experienced all those years ago. “She’d like it better if you cooked.”

“Then clearly you don’t remember what my cooking tastes like.” Arthur’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “The idea is to drive her into my arms, not away.”

Shoulders slumping, Lancelot caved. “What’s the meal?”

Betrayed, Elyan hissed, “Traitor!”

-x-

“Hey.” Reaching the front of the hotel, Percy spotted Tristan leaning against a nearby wall, a cigarette on his lips.

Listlessly, Tristan raised his hand and waved back. “Hi.”

He frowned. “You really should quit.”

“I stopped once.” Tristan shrugged. “I’ll do it again. One day.”

Not the answer he was looking for. It had been bad enough that he’d lost an uncle to lung cancer. He didn’t want to witness it again. “You have a daughter, right? You should at least quit before you go home.”

“…careful,” Tristan warned, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll stop when I’m ready.”

That might have been a step too far and Percy swallowed. The air around Tristan changed, thick with danger. While Tristan was an ordinary man, it was too easy to imagine him pulling out a blade. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tristan looked away, pulling out his cigarette and letting out a puff of smoke. “I stopped for her the first time. Now…”

“Now?” Percy swallowed, not liking the sound of that. Of any of this. “You’ll go home, right?”

“…when my memories are erased, sure.” His fingers tightened their grip on the cigarette and he frowned. “Though I’m not sure if she’ll want me back. If any of them’ll want me back.”

Right. He had walked out on them. Percy curled his fingers, his nails digging into his palms. “Merlin…Merlin could smooth it over. Just like he did with everything else.”

“And use the same magic that got me into this mess?” Tristan sneered, clicking his teeth. “No. Besides, I chose to walk away. I live with that choice.”

“You didn’t have a choice!” Percy protested, shaking a fist. “It wasn’t like you could forget Isoolde.”

“So? Doesn’t change what I did. What they felt.” Tristan leaned back against the wall, an hopeless expression on his face. “I was a terrible husband. A terrible father. I reap what I sow.”

“That’s stupid! I saw you looking at those flights—you want to go back. You should go back.” Percy laughed mirthlessly. “We’re complete opposites.”

At this, Tristan turned to him, looking at him properly for the first time. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I want to go back.” Percy leaned his head back, staring up at the wide sky. An expanse that stretched over a wide world, most of it unknown to him. He’d always known it was big. That his town was small. It was one thing to know, another to experience. “If I can go back.” Wanderlust filled him and his feet ached to keep walking, to keep traveling. “That town…I feel trapped in it. Suffocated now.”

“That’s stupid.” Tristan flicked his cigarette to the ground. Grinding it with a foot, he sneered, “You can go back whenever you want to. And then leave whenever you want. Nothing’s trapping you at in your town, nothing’s keeping you away.”

“No, I…” And maybe, at the crux of it, Tristan was right. There really was nothing that kept him trapped in that town, nothing that stopped him from picking up and going. Forever, perhaps. For just a month, perhaps. Could he even stay?

No, to be honest, his real fear wasn’t that. It was if he wanted to go and Rahul didn’t. If he had changed so much that he couldn’t go back to who he was before.

There really was no argument against that.

-x-

“Well. Um.” Gwen stared at the wreckage in front of her. The kitchen was demolished, pots and pans overflowing from the sink. On the stove were several stains she was too scared to identify and a small green thing in the corner that she could have sworn moved. “This is a thing.”

“Guinevere!” Arthur greeted her overly cheerfully. Firmly, he turned her around and pushed her out of the kitchen. “Just in time. Would you care to have dinner with me?”

“Huh?” Gwen tried to peer over his shoulders, to where she was certain she’d just spotted the dead bodies of Lancelot and her brother. Was it a murder? Had she just stumbled upon a murder and Arthur was trying to buy her silence? “What about those—”

“They’re fine.” Arthur gently pushed her through the side door, his large frame blocking most of her view. “They’re just cleaning up their mess.”

Somehow, she had the feeling it wasn’t exactly their mess. Dryly, she looked up at him as he continued to propel her across the lawn. “_Their_ mess?”

“Their mess,” Arthur confirmed, not even flinching, and she was impressed. Either he was a great liar or he really, truly believed it had nothing to do with him. “We’ll have dinner outside while they clean up.”

“Leon—”

“Is also going to help them,” Arthur completed her sentence. Now that they were further from the house, he moved to her side. His arm was slung around her shoulder, still guiding her to some pre-ordained destination. “It’ll just be the two of us.”

Considering all of his interactions up this point, Gwen could guess where this was going. Still, it was late, her stomach was rumbling, and to be perfectly honest, she was curious. Slipping away from his grip, she clasped her hands behind her as she continued to walk with him. “So where are we going.”

Arthur’s arm hung in the air a good second before he let it drop with a forlorn frown. “A picnic. Made just for you.” Forcing back his usual cheer, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled next to her amicably. “It’s over the next hill. It has as good view of the lake.”

“I know.” Gwen shot him a scornful look. “I have been here for the past few months.”

“Right.” Arthur swallowed, his usual bluster failing him. “That is true.”

“And I think I’ve seen enough of the lake to last me a lifetime.” Gwen glared at the vast entity ahead of them. At eight, the sun was low in the sky, getting ready to set. The rays caught in the water, making it sparkle a little, and she wished she could find it as beautiful as she had the first few times.

At this, Arthur paled. “We could eat somewhere else. Maybe…” he trailed off, furtively looking around for some other equally romantic spot. “Near your flowers…or…”

Gwen snickered. He was so completely unprepared for this response. There was something terribly endearing about the way he was panicking, scrambling to find a good date option. As she wasn’t _entirely_ cruel, she patted his arm. “I was just joking. Well, partially. I am tired of the lake, but I don’t mind eating near it.”

Relieved, Arthur relaxed entirely. “I’ll make sure that next time is a better location.”

“Already planning for next time?” Gwen’s lips quirked, amused. “Very bold of you.”

“Only the bold get what they want,” Arthur quipped back, a rakish smile on his face. “And I can’t be any less for you.”

“Is it really for me?” she mumbled, under her breath. Fortunately, Arthur was ahead of her now, his pace quickening as the picnic appeared ahead of them. A checkered blanket was spread on the grass. On it was an ice bucket with a bottle in it and two glasses, as well as a bowl of what looked to be burned mashed potatoes. On two plates were several fries and burgers but no matter how they were arranged, it couldn’t hide their origins. “Made just for me, huh?

At her expression, Arthur rubbed his neck. “The potatoes were the only edible part.”

Suddenly, she understood the scorched marks in the kitchen. Daintily, she folded her legs beneath her and sat in front of a plate. “Shall we?”

-x-

“Why are we here?” Gravel crunched under their feet as Morgana and Mordred made their way down the road. Around them, dozens of tourists followed suit, all of them headed to the same destination: Stonehedge. Mordred glanced at his sister. “We’re just going to get the same result as the other places.”

“Probably. But…well, just in case it isn’t Avalon. In case we don’t have to go there and fight whatever Merlin left there.” Morgana rubbed her wrists. In her heart, she’d never been good at conflict. “Might as well just check this place first.”

Morded scanned the rolling hillsides along the path. Nothing about this place felt familiar, not in the least. Vaguely, he recalled coming here as a child, of druids walking in the moonlight, but the scenery of that memory didn’t match reality. Too much had changed. Maybe it was just a memory from a movie he’d watched as a kid. Whatever trace of druids, of magic, of the old ways that had been left here, they were long gone by now. “I don’t even need to look to know.”

“Just humour me?” Morgana shrugged, trudging forward faster. “I already paid the tickets, we already waited for our time slot, so let’s just get it over with, okay?”

“Alright.” Mordred followed silently. Whatever doubts his mind had, his feet didn’t share. They quickened as they crested a hill, spotting other travellers on their way back. Maybe, just maybe, some part of this felt familiar. A thrill ran down his spine.

Then they climbed a hill and there it was: Stonehedge. Giant slabs of rock jutted against the clear blue sky, a stark contrast to the vast empty spaces around them. One rock lay across the ground, another half broken. And yet, and yet, it was magnificent. As ruined as it was, it was amazing.

And yet, and yet, Mordred did not feel anything beyond that. Beyond the usual tourist response, the thing that had been bred into him as a child. There was no special connection, nothing that reminded the druid within him of who he was. Maybe he had lived in this body for too long, raised in this era too well.

A glance at Morgana showed she felt the same. With a laugh, Mordred sat down on the grass nearby, staring up at the skies above. “What are we doing?”

“We’re…” Unable to force the charade any longer, Morgana sat next to him with a sigh. “We have to go to Avalon.”

“And?” Mordred turned to her, his hands curling on the grass. “And then what?”

“Then we save the world.” Morgana’s brow knitted. “What else?”

“No, beyond that.” Mordred stared at Stonehedge again. Might as well get his money’s worth. “Say we save the world. Then what? Merlin might still try to kill us. We can’t just keep running. What about jobs? Our family? Friends? At some point, they’re not going to buy our excuses.”

“…I don’t know.” Morgana admitted, bitterness creeping into her voice. “I just don’t know. We can’t fight him. He’s too strong.”

-x-

Arthur felt a surge of joy as Gwen smiled at him over her glass of wine, the only actual elegant part of his picnic. This was going well. For once. Despite the issues he faced, Gwen was happy and looking at him. If only he had his cooks—the fast food, the burnt sides, all of it would have been replaced with an actual feast. Still, she liked it anyways, and while he worried what that said for her tastes, he’d take it.

“This is surprisingly edible.” Gwen frowned as she chewed on a piece of his potato salad. Well, his in part. Elyan had helped a lot with it. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

“It isn’t quite what I was hoping for either,” Arthur admitted reluctantly. None of this was, including Leon’s last-minute drive to the closest fast food place.

“I never knew you could burn a potato salad, but despite the black bits it doesn’t taste all ashy.” Gwen thoughtfully nibbled on another piece. “Actually, I don’t even know how to describe the taste.”

Now Arthur was starting to worry that the potato salad went bad in a different way. He gently pulled the bowl away and instead pushed another burger toward her. “Eat that instead.”

Rebelliously, Gwen leaned over and stole another bite. When Arthur stared at her, mouth slack-jawed, she shrugged. “It’s kinda addictive.”

If Gwaine was here, he’d suspect the food was drugged. As far as he knew, there were no magic potatoes, like there were mushrooms, but they were in a magical place. Maybe all the food here just ended up weird in someway.

Leaning back, Gwen gazed out at the lake. The sun had set by now, the last rays barely illuminating the castle across the waters. “I might get tired of the lake, but that castle…it’s just fascinating. I wonder why Merlin won’t let us explore it.”

“Probably some sort of magic mumbo-jumbo.” Arthur appraised the castle and smirked as he found it lacking. “It might be a decent enough place, but nothing compared to our castle.”

“Was it really…” Halfway through her sentence, Gwen’s smile fell. She lowered her gaze. In the fading light, her face was mostly in shadow. “Our castle.”

“Yes.” Arthur wasn’t sure just what he was doing wrong. “It was a magnificent castle. If only it were still standing.”

“It isn’t my castle.” Gwen’s eyes rose, catching his. She carefully set down her plate and meticulously folded her napkin. “And this, all of this, it isn’t for me.”

Arthur grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. “It is for you, it’s—”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” She withdrew from his grip, slipping out of his hands like water. “I’m not a queen. I’m not your queen. I’m just Gwen. I’m just an ordinary person.”

“You have never been ordinary.” He reached out, trying to grab her again, but she backed away, just out of his reach. “Not to me.”

“And how would you know what I am?” Gwen asked, shaking her head. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“Of course I do. You’re Guinevere,” and he could feel the mistake even as he spoke the words, the regret even before she responded.

“You aren’t listening. I’m Gwen.” Standing up, she dusted her skirt. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

-x-

A white ceiling covered in graffiti. Blearily, Morgana blinked as she stared up at someone’s phone number. They’d been travelling in hostels for too long and she longed for the comfort of her room, a bed that was at least kinda soft and not this thin mattress that let her feel the metal bars beneath it. Maybe they could spring for a proper hotel next time. She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in ages.

“Hey, Mordred.” Her voice cracked as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Let’s not do a hostel next time?”

Her brother didn’t reply and a mischievous smirk crossed her face. No matter how many times she saw it, it amused her to no end to see her brother’s sleeping face. Usually there was a little drool at the corner of his lips. Sometimes he was in a funny position. The single beds at the hostel made it harder for him to turn in his sleep, but he still sometimes woke up with half his body on the floor. Quietly, Morgana snuck to the edge of her bed and quickly leaned over. “Hey—”

There was nothing underneath her, just a neatly folded blanket. Mordred’s felt something heavy lodge in her stomach. Mordred never made the bed. Not even when asked. Quickly, she hopped down the ladder, almost tripping in her haste. Now that she was looking, she only saw one suitcase. A note was on her brother’s pillow and with a shaky hand she picked it up. The elegant handwriting scrawled across the folded paper spelled her name, her brother’s cursive as impressive as ever.

_We won’t have to run anymore_.

She dropped the paper.

-x-

“You know what you did wrong, my liege?” Leon asked, standing behind Arthur.

Still sitting at the picnic, staring off into the darkness, Arthur took a deep breath. “Yeah.” He got up slowly. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

“…Queen Guinvere lived a long life.” Leon squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “She was happy.”

“That’s all I wanted.” Arthur closed his eyes with a sigh. “Just that.”

-x-

The second Merlin stepped foot in Dublin, he felt a spark. A thrill ran up his spine and he jolted to attention. This land felt just like Avalon, just like the world had back in Camelot’s time. Magic still ran wild and rampant here, unlike most other places. “This’ll work.”

“What’ll work?” Gwaine asked, running a hand through his hair. After falling asleep on the plane, he had the world’s worst case of bedhair. It looked like a wild animal made a nest on it.

“This land.” Eyes shining, Merlin turned to the others. “Magic’s still strong here. I can connect to the old ones here, I just know it. Hell, maybe I can even find Morgana and Mordred.”

“Really?” Percy grinned. “Finally.”

“Yeah, I—” Merlin’s phone buzzed in his pocket, finally getting signals once more. He groaned. The idiot prince with another dilemia, he was sure. “What’d he do this time?”

“He’s better than my sister’s soaps.” Gwaine leaned over his shoulder, peering down at the screen. “Unknown? Give your number to someone strange?”

“Maybe it’s just spam…” Merlin trailed off, reading a simple message.

_Mordred is coming._

-x-

Arthur carefully stirred his mug, his eyes darting to the instructions on the back of the instant coffee to make sure he was following the instructions right. This Gwen liked coffee. No, he should stop using ‘this’. Gwen liked coffee. She liked the bitter taste, the way it burst on her tongue. She liked a lot of things, some which Guinevere did, some which she did not.

Mug in hand, he quietly exited the house. While Gwen didn’t like early mornings, she did sometimes wake up just as the sun rose. Sketchpad in hand, she’d sit on the porch and quietly capture a world still waking up, a world painted in the pinks and golds of dawn.

“Coffee?” he asked, holding out the mug for her as he approached her.

She glanced up from her sketchpad, her eyes guarded. “Don’t you have training?”

“Not today.” Arthur held the mug out until she finally took it. Sitting next to her, he peeked at her drawing. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” She took a small sip and blinked in surprise. “This is good.”

“The instructions were easy to follow.” Arthur watched her from the corner of his eye. She took another small sip, still not looking at him. “Do you need more…milk?” Arthur frowned, trying to remember the terms for it. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Less, actually,” Gwen admitted, breathing in the steam. “It’s a little sweeter than I like.”

“Ok.” Arthur clasped his hands, resting his chin on them. “You sketch a lot. Did you want to become an artist?”

“No, it’s just a hobby.” Gwen paused. She bit her lip, watching the steam as it dissipated into the morning air. “I…why are you asking this?”

“I want to know more about you,” Arthur responded readily, prepared for the question.

“I thought you knew everything about me.” She raised a brow, turning toward her. Her stance was still protective, as though she was waiting for his next mistake.

“Not everything.” Arthur sighed. “You were right. You’re not her. Not exactly. And I…I didn’t want to see that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Gwen agreed, her lips thin.

“Now I can. I want to know more about you. About Gwen of England.” Arthur watched her, hopeful. “Gwen who doesn’t like sweet things and likes to sketch.”

“Even if it doesn’t lead to love?” Gwen asked carefully.

“…even if it doesn’t lead to love.”

“Huh.” Gwen smiled, a soft shy thing. “Then tell me a little about yourself too.”

Arthur’s heart felt full. Before he could respond, a bright spark appeared at the edge of the lake, taking the shape of a person. A boy. A man.

Mordred.


End file.
